


Disturbances and Distractions

by tyndaridai



Category: Korean Drama, 상속자들 | The Heirs
Genre: F/M, High School, Prompt Fic, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyndaridai/pseuds/tyndaridai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he slurps his noodles too loudly (on purpose), Rachel nearly smears her last maki roll  in his stupid hair.</p><p>Rachel and Young Do in Senior Year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the lack of updates, if you follow me on tumblr (tyndaridaes) you'll understand why. This is part 1 of 2, concerning how Rachel and Young Do became better friends...and eventually lovers. In many cases it's a bit lighter than most YoungRa fics are, and I'm a bit concerned that both Rachel and Young Do's characterizations might be off. I've chosen to go a specific direction with both of them, so I hope it works! It's mostly from Rachel's perspective so you'll have to wait for a potential second fic to understand Young Do.
> 
> It is not beta'd so yes, there will be grammar mistakes. I will go back and fix it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**They gravitate towards one another.**

 

It’s senior year and the rabble (“the mediocre people,” Young Do had said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pressing her tight against his side) have not shut up. Rachel supposes she can’t blame them, by all appearances it looked like the ice queen was chewed up and discarded by a _second, illegitimate_ , son. _Justice,_ Rachel can read in their eyes when she deigns to meet them.

As Rachel becomes increasingly solitary, focused on her studies and the Company, the vipers seem to take this as a sign of acceptance. They make the mistake of thinking that Rachel could ever have or be less than she was before. Solitary, studious, and unapproachable did not mean a Queen dethroned.

She was built for far better, brighter things than a political marriage to a boy who had nothing to recommend him (not even a spine). Watching the likes of Cha Eun Sang and Tan happily cavorting like the fools they were only left a bitter taste in Rachel's mouth.

No, Rachel would not mistake her ambitions or heart again.

If she had to convince herself that she needed no one when she watched Bo Na and Eun Sang playing friends, well, that was her own business. She didn’t want their companionship. She was her own best company.

Young Do didn’t seem to understand that.

* * *

  
  
**It starts like this**.

 

Rachel peers at her reflection in the mirror, eyes critical and mouth set in a firm line.

The giggles of girls far more shrill than she fill the silence as the lunch break crowd files into the bathroom.

 _Were her bangs uneven?_ Rachel cards her fingers through the hair at her forehead and narrows her eyes at her reflection. A girl beside her barks with laughter and Rachel exhales a long practiced sigh.

“Do you intend to continue polluting the air with your noise?” she leans back from the sink and levels the girl with a flat look in the mirror.

The girl gapes.

“Get out,” Rachel sighs again.  
  
One of the girls, a brave one, opens her mouth to whine about Rachel’s manners but the chirp of a cell-phone interrupts her.  
  
Rachel doesn’t even look at the girl as she brings the phone to her ear. “Young Do,” she enunciates clearly, and his name is like a magic word. The girls shuffle out of the bathroom, muttering, and Rachel grits her teeth hard.  
  
A part of her detests him in moments like this. Very few were suitably afraid of her anymore, some, like the little no-name that even attempted to put Rachel in her “place,” followed the example of Rachel’s former _associates_ in testing the limits of Rachel’s tolerance and temper.  
  
And yet, one word, one glance from Young Do and they saw fit to scatter. It infuriated her that he thought he could play her white knight. She didn’t need it.  
  
“What do you want.”  
  
 _Where are you?_ he says simply, ignoring her tone.

“Is that any business of yours?”  
  
There’s a short huff of breath and Rachel pictures him rolling his eyes.  
  
 _Did you eat?_  
  
Rachel frowns then, puzzled by his question as well as his lack of sarcasm. Young Do had been a shell of his former self lately, but he was hardly a new person.  
  
“No,” she says carefully and drops her gaze to the hem of her skirt, worrying the fabric there.  
  
 _Tell me where you are, we’ll eat together._

Rachel’s brows go up and she pauses, considering his words. “If you think I need charity, you’re mistaken.”  
  
It’s his turn to sigh then, exasperated. _Ya. Are you the only one with a stomach?_

 

* * *

 

They begin eating together at every lunch period. After she’d allowed him to accompany her the first time, he started showing up without invitation or question. He’d slide his tray onto the table with a wicked smile, and defy her withering stare. He defied anyone's stares.

People watched them. People talked. They wondered why Young Do even bothered with her. While he had taken a hit to his own esteem, Rachel was still a woman and she was unfairly subjected to the much more vicious regard of their peers. Or lack thereof. She was a bitch, she was a whore. He was the son of a criminal, but he was now also the head of his kingdom. He was no longer an heir, he was a King. They wondered if Young Do was just pitying his almost sister out of some misguided sense of responsibility, or if she was his new play thing. She'd be lying if she said she didn't wonder the same things.

It had to stop.  
  
“Hello, Sister."  
  
She sets her chopsticks down and resists the urge to kick him in the shin. “Is this going to become a habit?”  
  
“You know how much I love family meals,” he grins, mouth sly. She watches that mouth, thinking that as much as she’d like to smack it off his face, it was good to see him smiling again. He hadn’t done much of that the months after Cha Eun Sang and his Father’s incarceration.  
  
Rachel blinks away this thought and huffs, looking away. She sees Ye-Sol watching them from across the room 

Ye-Sol sneers.  
  
“You doubt my sincerity?” Rachel almost jumps when she snaps her gaze back to Young Do. He’s staring at her, eyes hard and steady. More importantly, he’d slid his long leg forward so that his knee pressed against her own. Thoughts of Ye-Sol fly from her mind, and she expects that was his intention.  
  
She shifts, stunned for only a moment.  
  
“Well,” she says, rewarding his consideration with a sharp press of her heel against his foot. She smirks when he flinches slightly. “I’ve always been a smart girl.”  
  
When Young Do grins, it’s like a shark.  
  
“I know what you’re doing,” she says evenly, eyes hard, the pressure of her heel against his shoe even harder.  
  
Young Do measures the weight of her look with a steady one of his own. “Well don’t be selfish,” he shifts so that his knee is now forcing her own leg back, “share it with the class.”  
  
She narrows her eyes, and feels the cruel words on her tongue before she even thinks to say them.  
  
“I’m not Cha Eun Sang,” she lifts her heel from his foot and watches as his face tightens imperceptibly, brows drawn together. “I don’t need any of your cheap heroics or pathetic attempts at rescue." His eyes flash as she goes in for the kill, and she hates herself just a little bit. "Not that they got you very far anyways."

He’s too proud to let her win by getting up and leaving, no matter how badly she can tell he wants to.

She’s too proud to leave when Ye-Sol’s eyes are burning holes into her pearl pink headband, daring her to feel like she no longer belongs.

They sit there then, glaring. (He's angry, yes, but Rachel swallows down the uncomfortable notion that he's more disappointed in her than anything else.)  
  
When he slurps his noodles too loudly (on purpose), Rachel nearly smears her last Hamachi roll in his stupid fringe.

  
  
There is something about Young Do that makes Rachel feel childish.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the day, he slides in next to her at her locker, back pressed against the metal at a lazy lean.  
  
“I’m hungry,” is what he says. It sounds enough like forgiveness to merit a pause from her, hand stilled, mid-reach, for her last book.  
  
“How is that even possible? You had no trouble inhaling your lunch,” she mutters, ignoring the small frisson of relief. She clears her throat and tosses her hair. “You nearly inhaled mine.”  
  
Young Do smirks and pivots by his hip so that the buttons of his navy Yves St.Laurent coat brush against her arm.

“Someone had to eat it, it looked expensive.”  
  
Rachel turns, eyebrows drawn together. “ _I_   was eating it.”  
  
“ _You_ were picking at it,” he hunches over so that he can rest his face against the metal of her locker door frame. “You were too busy inventing creative ways for me to die.”  
  
She sniffs, and stuffs her last book in her bag. “I think we both know I am an expert in multi-tasking, Young Do.” She stops when his eyebrow goes up, and narrows her eyes. “If you’re going to turn that comment into something suggestive, don’t even bother.”  
  
“Suggestive of what exactly,” he inhales deeply, simply watching her as she continues her task with growing irritation. “I merely stated that I was hungry.”  
  
 _Oh please,_ she thinks, and it can probably be read clearly from her unimpressed stare. Rachel sighs and fastens her bag, tired and fully ready to retire to her castle where she can consume herself with work directives from her mother.  
  
“Young Do--”  
  
He shakes his head, abandoning his attempts at teasing. “Come,” he gestures with a nod, “Oppa will buy, and you can tell your mother it was a date.”  
  
She hesitates, unsure why he’s been trying so hard to...what? _Befriend_ her?  
  
“Aish,” he growls at her, and before she can say a word he has her locker door shut and her bag slung over his shoulder. “If you want your property back, I suppose you’ll have to follow.” He cocks a brow and turns on his heel.  
  
“That’s theft,” she snaps half-heartedly.

“Cry about it over abalone, then.”

 

* * *

 

  
“Omma,” she says later that week, pushing foie gras around her plate as her Mother’s eyes never stray from her phone. There’s word of bankruptcy and inevitable acquisition in their circles, and her Mother smells blood in the water. “Choi Y--”  
  
“How is your Japanese Rachel?”  
  
Rachel holds back her sigh of annoyance and sets her fork down. “Impeccable.”  
  
“Good,” Her Mother smiles, shooting her daughter an appraising look over the wine. “I’d like you to sit in our next meeting with Sanyo Shokai. There’s great potential there,” she muses quietly as her eyes stray back towards the e-mail on her phone. “An excellent learning opportunity for you.”  
  
Rachel bites the inside of her lip and feels the acid on her tongue. “Omma?” She wonders if she should take Young Do up on his offer. What _would_ her Mother say about her precious daughter “dating” the man who was nearly her step-son. A competitor. A threat.  
  
It’s all a farce of course, but the thought almost makes Rachel smile.  
  
“Yes, Rachel?”  
  
“I look forward to it,” she says instead, but finds no pleasure from her Mother’s satisfied smile.

 

* * *

  
  
She's not sure when, why, or how, but expecting Young Do becomes a habit.

  
When he comes to school, he always comes by her locker before classes begin. He’d taken on more and more responsibilities in his company, making his school attendance something of an issue. Rachel, whose mother had increased her own workload, understood that. Young Do was on the precipice of something great, and many were determined to see the insolent son of a criminal fail. His responsibility was to the company first, and himself second. School likely served as a reminder for those waiting for Young Do's fall, that, in their estimation, he was yet a man.

But when he did come, it was to her first. 

Sometimes he announced it to the entire school.

 

> ("Yoo Rachel," his voice rings out like a shot in the hallway, and the hum of chatter around her abruptly ceases.
> 
> And then, in the few seconds it takes Rachel to look up from her locker, startled, the chatter starts again--about them.
> 
> Rachel glares at Young Do as he comes to her at a lazy gait, hands shoved into his pockets and an unapologetic grin on his face.
> 
> "You idiot," she hisses when he is close enough to her, struggling to maintain her usual icy decorum as the volume of voices increases around them. "What do you think you're doing?"
> 
> As usual, Young Do seems unaffected. Worse, he looks wickedly pleased with himself.
> 
> "Calling my Sister's name. Have you changed it?"
> 
> "I'm not your Sister," she argues and risks a look around the hallway to assess the damage. She never would have done that before, she never would have cared. And as her eyes meet Tan's hard, assessing stare from across the hallway, she is reminded why.
> 
> Beside him, Cha Eun Sang ducks her head, flitting a curious look between Rachel and Young Do before she clutches her boyfriend's hand to turn his attention away.
> 
> Rachel swallows, blinks, and nearly forgets herself. Tan hadn't spoken a word to her since the semester had started, but she didn't need to hear his voice to read the accusations in his every glare. _Always the victim, aren't you Tan?_
> 
> He's not even looking at Young Do, and it infuriates her because it's a clear attempt to belittle her, to "remind" her that she is weak and inconsequential to Tan. That Tan thinks he holds any true influence over her is almost comical.
> 
> _That was your mistake Rachel,_ she thinks, _you allowed him to hold power over you once, and you are suffering the consequences of that mistake_.
> 
> She meets Tan's stare like its a challenge, and when she turns away, Young Do is watching them. His jaw is hard, but his eyes are weary. He doesn't even look at Eun Sang once.
> 
> Feeling the same weariness, and a sudden surge of...softness, Rachel shuts her locker door with an efficient click and swats at Young Do's forearm. Tan's stare continues to burn against her temple.
> 
> "As penance you can carry my books," she orders archly, urging Young Do to look back at her.
> 
> "Take them," she chides, tugging more harshly on his jacket. "We'll be late, and your record is already suffering."
> 
> He watches her for a moment, studying her with a curious expression that makes her glower slightly. She doesn't like the vulnerability that comes with her gesture being noticed.
> 
> After a long moment though, he looks from her offered books to the swell of her brow, and smirks.
> 
> "You're stronger than you look," he says dismissively and when he brushes past her he makes sure his arm knocks into her shoulder.
> 
> Distantly, she wonders if this is what having a real brother must feel like. The all-consuming rage and frustration could only come from family.
> 
> "Come on," he sighs, as if he is the exasperated one. "My record is suffering."
> 
> Rachel has to remind herself to exhale when she breathes in too deeply.
> 
> She doesn't even throw Tan a cursory glance as she regally moves to step into place beside Young Do.)

 

And sometimes, he had Myung Soo in tow.

 

> (Rachel has always been excellent at keeping her composure. Through frigid masks and emotional jailing, she has achieved decorum, control, and the title of Ice Queen.
> 
> So when Myung Soo suddenly barrels into her from the side, sending her tripping into Young Do’s chest, years of discipline cut the shriek off at her tongue. Rachel inhales so sharply that all she manages to breathe in is Young Do.  
>   
>  “Omo,” Myung Soo gasps for her, all frantic energy and apologies as he hovers just behind her. “Before you castrate little Myung Soo, let me explain.”  
>   
>  Rachel is at a loss. Still bewildered by the quick turn of events, she snaps her eyes upwards to see Young Do grinning in amusement, those evil eyebrows arched and mocking her flustered state. She shoves him away from her, ears burning.  
>   
>  Rachel clenches her fist and turns on Myung Soo, but Young Do seemed ready for that.  
>   
>  “Aw, give the puppy a break,” he says, and Rachel watches Myung Soo nod emphatically, so emphatically in fact that he nearly loses his balance again. “He just got back from the vet.”  
>   
>  Rachel can see now that the apparent cause for Myung Soo’s poor equilibrium is a broken leg; there’s a purple cast all the way up to his upper right thigh and a single crutch tucked under his arm. Purple. Of course it was purple.  
>   
>  “Purple,” she states, doing her best to control her temper, a feat she never would have bothered with only months before. It was no secret that Rachel was short on patience when it came to Myung Soo, but the more Young Do insisted on bothering her, the more Myung Soo did so as well. Desensitization is what she explained to Young Do when he smugly observed her willingness to even be seated at the same table as the slobbering child. She just wished Young Do would understand that she had no desire for company at all, himself included. Though that was becoming less and less true every passing day.  
>   
>  Myung Soo, probably more relieved not to be dead by Rachel’s hand than anything, perks up at the mention of his cast. “What’s wrong with Purple?” he postures, rapping on the plaster with gusto. “You know, its small minded to consider a colour gender specific, Yoo Rachel.”  
>   
>  And, in hand with more Myung Soo exposure, Myung Soo had grown more comfortable talking to Rachel as he wished. A part of her also wonders if it’s because an element of fear or even respect had been removed since the Tan incident.  
>   
>  Young Do clears his throat, and Rachel swears she can hear the laughter under it. She sets her jaw and breathes in deeply.  
>   
>  “I was commenting on how bright it was Myung Soo,” her face is impassive, her gaze hard, but this doesn’t seem to bother Myung Soo as he considers her words. Rachel nearly rolls her eyes.  
>   
>  “Oppa said it suited my complexion,” Myung Soo chirps, and Young Do brushes Rachel’s shoulder as he leans forward to offer Myung Soo his other crutch.
> 
> “Oppa did indeed. There’s Bo Na,” he inclines his head towards the girl in question, happily wrapping herself around Chan Young’s arm as they almost glide down the hall. “And look, that bow of hers isn’t nearly as purple as your cast, Myung Soo.”  
>   
>  Rachel scoffs as the two boys share identical grins of menace, though Myung Soo’s is far more determined as he somehow pivots himself around and starts off towards the couple.  
>   
>  “You’re unbelievable,” Rachel says, and crosses her arms over her chest as Young Do falls into place beside her.  
>   
>  “I truly relish your compliments."  
>   
>  “Be serious,” Rachel sighs, and begins to comb her fingers through her now dishevelled hair in annoyance. “Is this why you were late?” It was nearly lunch.  
>   
>  Young Do makes a clicking sound against his teeth, and tightens his lips in consideration. “Have you seen how quickly he moves with those?” Rachel turns to see Myung Soo nearly take out Chan Young’s leg with his crutch. The older boy seems deeply amused as he tries to help Myung Soo steady himself, but Bo Na is nearly squawking with outrage at the “clear attempt on Chan Young’s life.”  
>   
>  “There wasn’t a _chance_ we were going to make first bell.”  
>   
>  Rachel finds herself smiling as she takes the scene in, and can only imagine the theatrics that occurred at the hospital. Young Do’s use of “we” does not go unnoticed by Rachel, who had long thought that Young Do’s odd attachment to Myung Soo was one of his more questionable traits. It was clear that Myung Soo would do anything for Young Do. Rachel was intrigued to see that Young Do seemed to hold his friendship with Myung Soo in equal esteem.  
>   
>  “Is that a smile?”  
>   
>  Rachel blanches, the expression freezing on her face before it slides away. “Don’t think that you can copy your notes from me,” she ignores his comment and studiously attempts to straighten her fringe into the perfect frame for her face.  
>   
>  “Your writing is too neat anyways,” he reaches forward and runs careful fingers through her hair until it lays perfectly in place on her forehead. Rachel’s breath freezes in her lungs. “It’s disturbing, and distracting,” he complains with an overdone sigh, and Rachel sniffs, swallows, and pulls her shoulders back.
> 
> _Disturbing and distracting._ Like Young Do’s very existence.  
>   
>  “Perfect, we’re in agreement then.”  Rachel brushes her hair over her shoulder and levels Young Do with a careful look. “If Myung Soo is coming to lunch, tie him to his seat. Somehow, I can just imagine a black eye in my future with _those,_ ” she gestures dismissively to the crutches, “waving around.”  
>   
>  It’s the closest thing to acceptance that he’ll get from Rachel, but she leaves Young Do at her locker before he can say a word. She doesn’t touch her fringe again until she’s out of his line of sight. )

 

But increasingly, he came to her quietly, tiredly, and devoid of any humour.  

  
  
It’s weeks after the incident with Myung Soo, and Young Do has managed a full day of school only 5 times. Rachel learns not to expect him, and were it not for the fact that he had begun to call her, she would have no interaction with him at all.  
  
Rachel herself had been busy with the demands of her Mother, and every week she saw the phantom lines drawn through the company grow larger and larger. By 22, Rachel knew she’d likely be responsible for their Japanese holdings. At 25, with a MBA filed away, perhaps she would be assisting her mother in turning RS International into a fashion conglomerate.  
  
Much like Young Do, youth was an insulting limitation others placed on her. Age was no consequence for Rachel’s ambition or brilliance. But while Rachel had the time and careful guidance of her Mother, Young Do had a handful of lawyers and ultimately, himself.  He was learning as he was doing.  
  
It’s why, when Rachel arrives at her locker a full half hour earlier than the normal student, she is stunned to see Young Do waiting for her there, looking the perfect picture of a dead man walking.  
  
She knows better than to show any pity. He hated pity.  
  
“Young Do,” she says carefully as she settles next to him, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag tightly against her chest.  
  
He says nothing for a while, merely closes his eyes and leans his head back against the neighbouring locker. With his throat bared and his face devoid of any colour, Rachel can only think of blood and sacrifice--an offering. She swallows that foolish idea down and opens her locker determinedly, her hand steady.  
  
“This is too much,” she says into the cavern of her locker. “You serve to gain nothing when you can barely stand up straight. This,” she lifts her head and gestures with a pointed chin, “is weakness.”  
  
He chuckles lowly, opening his eyes lazily. The paleness of his face only makes his eyebrows look all the more dangerous.  
  
“You know so much of weakness, _Rachel_.” It is not kind, and Rachel is not foolish enough to think that Young Do would ever be tired enough _not to_ kill.  
  
She inhales sharply through her nose, and feels cruel when she smiles. “Enough to recognize it in other people. You’re an idiot.”  
  
“And you’re out of line,” he points out flatly, turning onto his side so that he can crowd her with the expanse of his body.

Rachel wasn’t bitter that she wasn’t born a man. There were advantages to her sex that Rachel wielded with instinct, tools that would make her ascension into corporate leadership, Queendom, lasting. There were even advantages to being so small. But when Rachel looked at Young Do, studied the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs, she was jealous of his physical display of power. Her power would always have to take other forms.  
  
Young Do was accustomed to using his body for that very reason, she knew, but he never used it to threaten her. No, as Rachel took in his stern expression, the hardness of his mouth, and the tired slump of his shoulders as he leaned closer to her, she felt angry.  
  
She was reaching for him before she knew she wanted to. Her fingers ran a soothing line down his temple and over his ear as she brushed his hair back. He’d been too tired for product, she could see, so she would do what he’d been unable to.  
  
Young Do remained silent as she did this, her fingers making repeated strokes through his dark hair, moving it off of his face with gentle caresses. She didn’t tremble once, too angry to even think to be embarrassed. They were the only ones in the hallway so early anyways.  
  
“I hate your fringe,” she says quietly, sternly. “It looks so much better when it’s off your face. How is anyone going to feel threatened when you look like a 7 year-old child? Your eyebrows, Young Do,” she makes a noise of displeasure, and her fingers stray downwards to trace those too. “They cover your--”  
  
“My eyebrows,” he repeats, stilling her hand with his own against the side of his face. His voice is rough with fatigue and disuse, and had he not touched her, it would have stopped her alone. She says nothing, only watches him as he sighs, bringing her hand down and away from his face, their fingers still entangled. “So you’ve said.”  
  
She feels weary, so she waits. When Young Do merely closes his eyes again, she snaps.  
  
“Go home, or go to the library. If you pass out against my locker Young Do, I will leave you here.”  
  
He chuckles, his eyes at least somewhat warm when he opens them again. “You are a harsh mistress, Sister.”  
  
She frowns, realizing that it had been a while since he had even used the term. She wasn’t sure when he had decided that their relationship no longer called for it. An uncomfortable feeling twists in her gut, and she turns away, attention back onto her morning preparation.  
  
Her left hand doesn’t come with her.  
  
“Young Do,” she feels her ears burn. “I need my hand back.”  
  
He’s not smiling anymore, watching her again with a walled expression and drawn brows. “Keep it safe, I may need it later,” he retorts and drops her fingers without ceremony.

They stare at one another for another moment before Young Do straightens, heaves a large sigh, and backs away from her.  
  
“Go home,” she says again, unable to let him just leave like that. He waves his hand at her dismissively and starts back down the hallway without any energy. She is well aware that he has opted to walk deeper into the school instead of out the door like he should have.  
  
Rachel decides that it doesn’t bother or concern her, and slams her locker door with more force than necessary.  


 

* * *

 

She gives in and texts him during her last period.  
  
 _Did you go home?_ She types, pressing her lips firmly together as she considers even sending it. What was he to her? Certainly not a boyfriend (the thought made her shudder), and definitely not her brother. Rachel wasn’t sure she could, with good conscience, call anyone a friend, her world was filled with acquaintances and future business partners. And yet, Young Do…  
  
A horrifying thought suddenly comes to her.  
  
 _You weren’t foolish enough to ride your motorcycle here, were you?_ she sends instead.  
  
“Rachel,” Bo Na’s curiosity is so catlike, and she leans over Rachel’s shoulder with a similar feline lack of respect for personal space. “Are you texting during class!?”  
  
“If that’s what it looks like,” Rachel simpers, too distracted to even shoot Bo Na the scathing look she deserves for that comment. Young Do hadn’t answered her yet.  
  
“Well, who is it?" she hears Bo Na pout, and her quasi-frenemy drapes an arm over the back of Rachel’s chair. "Who would text _you_?"

 _Define foolish?_ Young Do finally texts back. A picture of his helmet comes a second later, and Rachel narrows her eyes.

"Is it a boyfriend?" Bo Na continues with an excited whisper, the prospect of boy drama erasing the lines Bo Na had not so clearly drawn between them. Rachel ignores her.

_That text message was definition enough. Young Do?_

_Are you my Mother? This clingy girlfriend act is beneath you, Rachel._

She presses her phone into her thigh and doesn't even dignify that comment with a response.

"It's not..." Bo Na hesitates, eyeing Rachel's growing ire warily, "Young Do is it? He's still not good news Rachel," she flips her hair and Rachel imagines Bo Na thinks she's doing Rachel a favour somehow. "Even for you."

Rachel wants to laugh. She settles for a condescending half smile instead, and looks back to her phone.

 _I took the car_ , Young Do had written. _Satisfied? Dear?_

Rachel ignores the jibe. _Where are you now? Home?_

"You still think you're better than everyone," Bo Na accuses. "Even after everything? Tan--"

"I am better," Rachel interrupts plainly, patiently. She enjoys the outraged disbelief on Bo Na's face for a few moments before the chime of her phone alerts her to a new message.

It's a picture of Young Do, eyes closed, feigning sleep against what is clearly her locker. A winky face is drawn in the left hand corner.

She wonders if Myung Soo took it.

Rachel scoffs, unimpressed, and tucks her phone back into her bag before the teacher is alerted by Bo Na's over the top expressions.

She rolls her eyes when she looks over at Bo Na, the girl shooting daggers right back.

"It was no one important," she offers dismissively.

Suitably appeased, Bo Na's glare loses a bit of its edge.

"You will _never_ be better than Chan Young," she hisses in return. Rachel just smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, she receives another text from Young Do.

 

 _Oppa is calling in a favour,_ it reads. _I need your help._

 

  
  
  
  


 

 


	2. Small Favours and Couple Phones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is that what we do," she muses, "play well together?"
> 
> "Well what would you call it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who sent kind words of encouragement, and apologize that this was so late, and likely not really worth the wait. When I say I’m not pleased with this, I’m not fishing for compliments. I had to cut out a considerable make-out scene (sorry) because it was just too clumsy. But, good news is, it’ll go in the next installment, and that installment is already halfway done. You’ll notice that this may no longer be a 3-parter, because I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. We’ll see how the next installment goes, but I would appreciate your honest commentary/criticism. I wanted to get this up quickly since I made you wait so long, so there are grammatical mistakes that I will have to go back and fix.
> 
> Just a few things:  
> -Rachel’s commentary of Eun Sang is not necessarily my own. While I was by no means a fan of Eun Sang as a character, I attribute that to the horrendous writing choices. Rachel blames Eun Sang in a lot of ways, and I’m running off of the very unfortunate storytelling choices that the writers made in pitting two girls against each other, vilifying Rachel and forgiving Tan of being a horrible person in the process. I’m trying to get Rachel to a point in the future where she sees the error in that thinking.  
> -I love Bo Na, she was one of my absolute favourite characters. Rachel’s frustration with her is not to be taken as my own frustration with her, or that I think she’s stupid.  
> -I’m not familiar with Korean-Japanese business etiquette, and despite the research I attempted to do, I doubt it’s correct. Please let me know how it should have gone and I can change that!  
> -Rachel’s dress is part of the Zuhair Murad 2015 resort collection and can be found [here](http://fashionsy.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/092.jpg) Just imagine that it has slightly more purple undertones while remaining that beautiful blue. 
> 
> As always, you can find me at tyndaridaes.tumblr.com

* * *

"Miss?" Rachel pauses, pink lipstick pressed against the corner of her mouth and catches her frown before the maid can see it in the reflection of her vanity mirror. "Your Mother requests your presence here directly after school."  
  
  


"I see, did she give a reason?" _Like why she wasn’t able to tell Rachel this herself?_  
  
  
  


"She did not share it with me." The maid, Kim Na Ra, hesitates at the flat look Rachel gives the mirror, but offers a weak smile. "Have a good day at school."

 

 

Rachel nods, blinking away the contemplative look and manages a perfunctory smile. "Thank you."  
  
  
  


 _Likely another business opportunity_ , Rachel thinks, resuming her lip stick application before the maid is out the door. That, or Esther was going to broach the topic of marriage again and she was gracing Rachel with the entire school day to prepare herself.  
  
  
  


Her mother had welcomed their newfound 'understanding' of one another with surprising enthusiasm (as much as Esther could be genuinely enthusiastic). Esther saw their mutual severance from marriage as a tie to bring them closer together both professionally and personally. Rachel bore it in silence, knowing full well that the pressure to excel, exceed, and absorb power through a gold band and white lace would only intensify in the next year.  
  
  
  
 _For the good of the company, for us, Rachel._  
  
  


Rachel was not entirely opposed to the idea of marriage, despite the debacle that was Kim Tan. It could be advantageous to her, of course. There was even a small, well-kept part of her that believed someone, somewhere could marry her for more than her wealth and standing. Not love (Rachel scoffed at the idea) but affection, maybe. _  
  
  
  
_

Rachel had never come first to anyone. She wanted to be wanted. Was it so impossible? Was she so vile, so unworthy? Didn't she deserve even just--

_  
  
  
_

Rachel inhales deeply through her nose, slapping her tube of lipstick to the vanity like she might slap herself.

_  
  
  
_

_Tan didn't think so._ She watches herself steadily in the mirror, pressing her lips together until the pink lines are white. And Hyo Shin had kissed her lips but left her no promises or words when he left for the army, so what was she to think?

_  
  
  
_

_Nothing, Rachel_ assures herself, and her brows lift in the reflection. _You should thank Tan for showing his pitiful, pathetic, colours before you entered those marriage shackles thinking he could actually care. And you_ , she swallows hard, _you embarrassed yourself, utterly_.

_  
  
  
_

She blinks away the pin prick of shame and gives herself a hard, assessing stare. "I don't repeat the same mistakes," she reminds herself, chin inclined. She was far better than what she'd allowed herself to become those months ago. She wouldn't apologize for it, but she would learn from it. It would not happen again.

_  
  
  
_

_And Tan has given you a gift_ , she muses and she brings the lipstick back to her mouth. Thanks to that entire affair, Rachel was no longer interested in becoming a bargaining chip for power unless the rewards were considerable. She certainly wasn't going to play pawn in some _man's_ crisis of emotional impotence.

_  
  
  
_

Any man she was tied to would be a tool in her arsenal or she wouldn’t marry at all.  Utilitarian, maybe, but Rachel had no time or patience for anything that wasn’t serviceable to her future or complementary to her desires. _No_ , she thinks, taking great care to flesh out the pink of her bottom lip until it swells swollen and plump. She had a glimpse of where that path could take her--where it would take Eun Sang--and she wanted no part of it.

 

Of course, a woman of her station, intelligence, and prospects was expected to follow the same well-trodden path as so many of the women before her. Her mother was, in many ways, the exception. But even Esther was ultimately forced to utilize those channels to get what she wanted.

_  
  
  
_

How disappointing.

_  
  
  
_

"How boring," she mutters, tucking her resentment away as she brushes her hair over her shoulder. It wasn’t like there was anyone worthwhile in her life anyways. There were more boys than actual men, more cowards than kings. If Rachel was forced to hold the hand of some boy, she wanted it to be a strong hand. If she was going to look this good and be this capable, she didn’t think it was so unreasonable a request.  

_  
  
  
_

As she primps in the mirror, thoughts full of everything she didn't want, Rachel catches sight of her phone in the reflection. It sits innocently on the foot of her bed and Rachel's fingers freeze in her hair.

_  
  
  
_

And then there was Young Do.

_  
  
  
_

She hadn’t answered his text last night. She’d read it with confusion and her pulse thumping erratically in her ears.

_  
  
  
_

There was still a sick feeling when she thought of Young Do and whatever their...relationship had become. Rachel cared about him, she could admit that. Seeing him wan and tired at her locker had sent a rush of protectiveness she hadn’t experienced before.  Whatever they had endured together last year had forged them into something more than begrudging playmates from youth, or the quasi-siblings of last semester.  Rachel didn’t really have any friends, but if she had to name just one, she was worried to think that it might be Young Do.

_  
  
  
_

What she didn’t know was what his motive was or why he insisted on staying close to her, _involving_ her when she’d made it perfectly clear that it was the exact opposite of what she wanted.

_  
  
  
_

She couldn’t entirely trust him, she’d decided as she’d stared at that phone, anxious fingers pressing deep ridges into the silk of her pajamas to keep herself still. His tempers were mercurial, his personality as of late, capricious. She didn't understand the abrupt change from the Young Do she’d grown up with her whole life and the Young Do that had worn his fringe in his face and pressed her close on that day in the cafeteria.

_  
  
  
_

Maybe he was sincere. Maybe, he’d acknowledged the strange bond she herself had felt in those final weeks of their parent’s engagement. They had both been so lonely hadn’t they? She a prize no one wanted, and he convinced he was never enough to make anyone stay. She thought they’d understood each other (as much as she revolted at the thought that they could be anything truly alike). But then he’d had the gall to be disappointed, angry at how she’d treated Eun Sang (as if he was any better). She thought they were partners in being discarded, underestimated, and unwanted. She would never understand what it was about Eun Sang that made Young Do try to do something about the parts he didn’t like about himself, why she was worth it.

 

She gets that, the self-hatred, the almost hysterical need to punish oneself. It was what she understood best of Young Do, because it was what she occasionally recognized in herself.  She'd spent the majority of her life believing that she was different, better, that Tan's attention was character defining. But now she sees. Sometimes, she doesn’t particularly like herself either.

 

And now Young Do has matured. He is still as dangerous, vicious, and forbidding as ever; the sharp edge of a knife and lithe arrogance in a too handsome face. But he is more contained, less erratic, and Rachel honestly can’t say she’s seen him do anything more than condescend on a regular basis. He’s growing up. But then, so is she.

 

These changes make her less inclined to trust him, however. She can no longer pin down this Young Do, and adjustments are not something Rachel likes to make.  
  
  


So his text went unanswered, and Rachel slept that night with her fists clenched and a tightness in her stomach that made her ill in the morning.  

 

 _That feeling hadn't exactly gone away either,_ she thins her lips and brushes a few strands of hair from her face. "Irrelevant," she reasons, satisfied with the YSL Rouge Pur Couture No 52 on her lips. If it was important he'd speak to her in person.

 

The longer she stares at the mirror though, she can't shake the thought of Young Do's hand against hers, fingers long and lean when he'd brushed her hair from her face. _Strong_ , is what she thinks, paling a bit under the expert lighting of her vanity. Young Do's hands were particularly strong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He isn’t at school when she gets there so Rachel’s well planned, slightly scathing dismissal of his text goes unsaid. She pretends it doesn’t bother her, because, really, _it doesn’t._ Myung Soo says something anyways.

 

“He’s not coming in,” the overgrown puppy sighs, laying his face on the cool metal of the locker next to hers and closes his eyes. Rachel blinks in astonishment that Myung Soo not only thought she’d permit it but that what, he thought she’d commiserate with him? She eyes the locker and thinks that Myung Soo occupies the spaces Young Do does, like he’s saving them for him.

 

“Who?”

 

Myung Soo laughs at that, and Rachel bristles. No one laughed at her unless it was Young Do’s unique brand of mocking.

 

“And?” she amends, fiddling with her lock with practiced, distracted movements. “Are you telling me this because you think I care?”

 

“Didn’t you need to speak with him?” Rachel stills her movements and snaps her head over to Myung Soo who is staring at her blankly.

 

“How-” she swallows and modulates her voice. “What did he say to you exactly?”

 

Myung Soo shrugs, using his torso to roll himself over on to his back, legs kicked out so he shifts into a lean next to her. That it’s a piss poor impression of Young Do is her first thought, but then it was uncharitable to say that everything Myung Soo did was a mirror image of his hyung. She thinks it anyway.

 

“He said,” Myung Soo clears his throat in an extravagant manner, and Rachel immediately regrets engaging with him in the first place. “Rachel needs your help,” he adopts an affected, deep, gravelly voice, that Rachel fears is meant to be Young Do. “She’s forgotten how to use a cellphone.” He finishes, grinning at her.

 

Rachel has to bite her lip to keep from gaping at Myung Soo. Of course.

 

“Shut up Myung Soo.”

 

“Ouch,” he pouts and watches her gather her things quickly before stalking off in the other direction. “Don’t be embarrassed Rachel. I never realized that your prickly exterior was just a cover for such a dark secret. Should I show you now? Rachel,” he calls out after her. “Young Do asked me to, what will he say when he finds out I didn’t?”

 

She thinks about throwing her phone right at his forehead.  
  
  
  


By second period, Young Do is still nowhere to be found. Feeling the bite of foolishness, Rachel now wishes she had just answered the text. How childish this was, this forced impasse, when all Young Do probably wanted to ask her for was their homework. Or, god forbid, her help in something to do with Eun Sang.

 

But it was too late now. Rachel’s pride would not allow her to fold first, because clearly, if Young Do hadn’t tried to contact her again, he wouldn’t fold either. Well fine, Rachel was a master at mind games, and she was even better with weaponized silence. If Young Do wanted to play games, he had picked the wrong opponent.  
  
  


She forgets; however, that Young Do is a fairly formidable opponent himself. She is on the way back from the bathroom when he strikes.

 

"Ya," Rachel stops at the foot of the stairs and turns to see an annoyed looking Bo Na with her hands on her hips. "Yoo Rachel," she calls again, unnecessarily, and Rachel rolls her eyes.

 

"What." It was nearly lunch now, what could Bo Na possibly have to complain about.  
  
  
  


 

"Am I your errand girl?" Bo Na huffs, glaring Rachel down.  
  
  
  


"I have no idea what you're referring to," Rachel raises a brow, "but I imagine it won't interest me."  
  
  
  


Bo Na scoffs and from her jacket pocket she retrieves a phone with a dark purple casing and ridiculously over the top phone charms. "This, is yours."  
  
  
  


Rachel almost laughs. "Absolutely not."  
  
  
  


"Don't try to pretend, Rachel. Young Do said you left it at the hotel last night" she leans in with a scandalized whisper, and Rachel's condescending smirk falls right off her face. "You're both so shameless," Bo Na continues, haughty. "He gave it to Chan Young to pass on to you. How dare you try to involve my perfect, innocent boyfriend in your," she fumbles for the right word, “ _scandals_."  
  
  
  


Rachel can feel the pulse in her forehead throb. "Ya," she snaps, covering her flustered state with an icy stare. “Are you crazy?"  
  
  
  


Bo Na sighs and darts resentful eyes around at anyone nearby. "Don't worry, even I'm not mean enough to tell everyone about your affair with Young Do." She pauses and shifts guiltily for a moment. "Chan Young wouldn't be happy. Even if it was about you…and your _couple_ phone."  
  
  
  


" _Couple-_ " Rachel protests.  
  
  


Bo Na gives a superior toss of her hair and narrows her eyes, completely in Rachel's face. "Don't think for a second that you and Young Do could ever compete with me and Chan Young for cutest couple."  
  
  
  


Rachel watches Bo Na go, mouth slightly open and dread hardening her stomach. She looks down at the phone Bo Na had all but slapped into her hand and an adorable Minnie Mouse charm beams happily back at her. It was sickening.  
  
  
  


As if on cue, the bell for lunch period rings and Rachel is no longer alone in the hallway.  
  
  
  


 

The swell of noise shakes Rachel from her angry stupor just in time to see Eun Sang and Myung Soo arrive at the top of the stairs. "Yoo Rachel," Myung Soo chirps and skips the last two steps to land right in front of her. Eun Sang descends more cautiously behind him. "Regained your technological abilities, already? Oh," he swats at the dangling charm. "Cute. You're just full of surprises today."  
  
  
  


 _I'm going to kill him_ , she promises and grips the phone so hard she nearly breaks a nail. Young Do had led Bo Na to believe that there was something going on just to get a rise out of her. That part didn't particularly bother Rachel as Bo Na had been convinced, for months, that Rachel and Young Do had been doing more than lunch together and Rachel was no stranger to ridiculous rumours. Except now, Bo Na believed she had tangible evidence in this ugly, over the top, purple monstrosity.

 

She could let it go but she wouldn't and the knowledge that Young Do had gotten her to do exactly what he wanted, only infuriates her. She meets Eun Sang's wary stare for a moment and bites down hard on her back molars.  
  
  
  


"Move," is all she says to Myung Soo, and starts for the school entrance.  
  
  
  


"Rachel," Myung Soo calls out to her again. "What about lunch? Why--" he stops and heaves a dramatic sigh. "Why does she keep storming off?" he mutters to Eun Sang who only watches Rachel's retreat in silent curiosity.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He's in his suite when Rachel arrives at Zeus, standing behind his desk in dark, closely fitted dress pants with his hair brushed back. The sleeves of his well tailored oxford shirt are bunched up at his elbows so when he turns the page he's reading, she can see his forearm flex. It throws her only for a moment because this was a Young Do she was used to, this was a Young Do that looked every bit of the dangerous man he was. This was also a Young Do she knew how to handle, flexing muscles or not.  
  
  
  


He doesn't even lift his head from the papers on his desk when she comes in, and it’s such a typical show of Choi irreverence that Rachel nearly rolls her eyes. Young Do was far too used to people playing into his hands, and while Rachel realizes she’s done exactly what he wanted her to do, she won’t give him the benefit of the irritation she’d felt only moments before entering his precious building.  
  
  
  


"What is this?" She pulls the phone out of her bag and lets the charm dangle from her palm, Minnie Mouse all happy and sickeningly sweet.  
  
  
  


From the desk, he shifts and sighs deeply from his chest. "The phone? It's a gift. Why," he finally flicks his eyes up to her and smiles. "Don't like the colour? I know it's not a favourite of yours, but I always thought it suited you."  
  
  
  


Rachel shifts uneasily at the compliment and clears her throat as she steps closer. Liar. Rachel had a pink undertone, she looked best in reds, not blues.  
  
  
  


"Hilarious."  
  
  
  


Young Do smirks and the fabric of his shirt bunches up at his shoulders when he rests his hands on his desk. "Thank you."  
  
  
  


"Bo Na is under the impression that this is a _couple_ phone."  
  
  
  


"Well I do have the Micky Mouse charm to match it..."  
  
  
  


"Because you have the maturity of a 5 year old?"  
  
  
  


"No," Young Do overdoes an adoring scrunch of his nose, "because it's so cute."  
  
  
  


"Young Do," Rachel huffs impatiently and slaps the phone onto the desk. "If she opens that mouth of hers--and she will--everyone will think I spent the night here with you. And worse," she throws a disdainful look at the happy little charm. "They'll think I participate in something as juvenile as couple phones."  
  
  
  


“Well, we can’t have that.” When she glares at him, unimpressed by his dismissive attitude, he chuckles in amused disbelief. "What do you care? I thought gossip was beneath you.”

 

Rachel crosses her arms under her chest. “Of course it is, but this is different. This is you.” She watches his eyes flicker in interest at that comment, but she doesn’t regret saying it. Surely he must understand what she means, they were nearly siblings.  
  
  
  


"It is me,” he draws out slowly like he’s testing her reaction to the words. “Handsome, a little wild…aren’t you fortunate.”  
  
  
  


“If we could have a conversation without you flattering yourself…”  
  
  
  


Young Do laughs, index finger rubbing at the arch of his brow. “What are you really angry about, Rachel?  You and I dating is old news. I have to say I’m surprised, I thought I’d get a delightful phone call telling me where I could stuff myself, not an actual visit.” He winks at her. “Be honest, you really did miss this handsome, dangerous, face."  
  
  
  


“Like a disease,” she deadpans, avoiding the uncomfortable notion that he’d been more aware of their dating rumours than she’d realized. "We're not dating," she says emphatically, "and I've had enough gossip circling about me for some time to add a sex scandal with you. You were trying to piss me off to get me here, and you thought you were being clever by doing it through phone charms and a predictably insufferable Lee Bo Na.” Her smile is sharp but she finds most of the irritation leave her. “You think you’re funny because Myung Soo laughs, but you’re just perverse Young Do.”  
  
  
  


“Aish,” he looks at her like he doesn’t quite know what to do with her, smile dimming. “You’re tiring, did you know that?” she shrugs, a little triumphant, and Young Do grimaces. “I forgot you had all the emotional capacity of a robot. Next time you ignore me, I’ll be sure to keep our sordid couple accessories at home.”  
  
  


 

“Young Do.”  
  
  
  


“Just the t-shirts then?” He abandons the jokes when she continues to stare at him, unamused.  
  
  
  


He shifts restlessly and exhales a long, defeated, sigh. “I thought you’d be grateful for the new phone since your old one _must_ be broken.” He lifts a brow at her pointedly. “Did Myung Soo help you figure out how a text message works?”  
  
  
  


“I received your message,” she admits.  
  
  
  


“And ignored it.”  
  
  
  


“If it's really such an important request you can tell me in person,” she inclines her chin, looking every bit the haughty Queen she was. She was bluffing her way through an explanation because the truth was something she refused to reflect upon. “Your text message was a statement, not a question and as such it didn’t require a reply.”  
  
  
  


Young Do sucks in a breath through his teeth and lets out a low puff of laughter. “Ya,” he chides, “are you a person or a robot?”  
  
  
  


“I’m diplomatic.”  
  
  
  


“You’re stubborn,” he challenges and leans over the desk, forearms bracing his weight so that he can hover a foot away from her unimpressed face. “Did my request make you uneasy Rachel?” he grins when her eyes narrow, and she refuses to back away from him lest she confirm his statement to be true, trembling fingers or not.  
  
  
  


“Don’t flatter yourself. I told you, if you want an answer from me you have to ask a question.”  
  
  
  


Young Do seems to think about this, eyes straying downwards where her hand is settled on top of his ridiculous purple phone. He says nothing, just remains contemplative. It’s enough to draw the apprehension back to the surface for Rachel.  
  
  
  


“Your favour,” she prods carefully, dropping the put-upon attitude. “Is it something serious?”  
  
  
  


Young Do laughs then and slides back from the desk and into his chair. “Is my sister worried about me?”  
  
  
  


“What am I supposed to think?” she scowls. “You’re being cryptic and silent enough that I’m...concerned. Young Do,” she sighs in exasperation. “Are you in trouble? Is it the shareholders?” she swallows when he says nothing, and feels the satisfying rush of adrenaline that comes with a corporate problem that needs to be solved. In this, Rachel always feels capable and sure. “If it’s Won I can--”  
  
  
  


“I want you to come to the reception on Friday,” he interrupts frankly.  
  
  
  


Taken aback, Rachel blinks back at him. “Excuse me?”  
  
  
  


“Zeus is hosting a reception for the investors this Friday,” Young Do explains slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “I want you to be there.”  
  
  
  


“If it’s a reception for the investors, my Mother will be present.”  
  
  
  


“No,” he shakes his head, eyebrows low. “Our parents may have parted _amicably_ but the other shareholders will see your Mother’s support for what it is,” he picks up the pen on the desk, twirling it effortlessly between his fingers. “A show. You are the future of your company. If they see how well we _play_ together they’ll be more confident in Zeus’ future prospects.”

 

"Is that what we do," she muses, "play well together?"  
  
  
  


"Well what would you call it?"  
  
  
  


Rachel let’s this sink in for a moment, head tilted to the side as she considers Young Do’s words. It was a bit simplistic, perhaps even juvenile, but he wasn’t wrong. Young Do was expected to take over the company in the next 10 years or so, as was she after she completed her MBA in the United States. It would be an important advantage for the both of them to appear this close. With the dissolution of their parent’s engagement, this would provide an unavoidable nod towards RS International’s support of Zeus, and vice versa. She watches him sit there, face impassive, eyebrows low, and thinks that in the future, this may be all she and Young Do discuss: business, and how to manipulate the game in their favour.  
  
  
  


Young Do must be fighting against the wolves with more effort than he expected he'd need. He had the Vice President, but Rachel was all too aware that it would never be enough. That thought, and the fact that he was still far paler than normal, makes her frown.  
  
  
  


“You want me to ask my Mother to go in her place,” she summarizes, and bites into her cheek when he nods. “And you, for some reason, couldn’t explain this in your message.”  
  
  
  


“I would have, if you’d just responded.” Young Do grins, giving a lazy shrug against the leather back seat of his chair. “I like to think we play well together.”  
  
  
  


Rachel rolls her eyes but finds that the small smile that breaks out is just a little bit fond.  “I’ll speak to my Mother today,” she assents, "but,” she cuts off his appreciative smirk with a warning. “If I’m to help you with this, you need to do something for me.”  
  
  
  


“And what’s that, exactly?”  
  
  
  


Rachel smiles like she knows how the world will end, and brushes her hair back from her shoulder. “We’ll handle that when the time comes. Do we have a deal?”  
  
  
  


He looks at her outstretched hand with narrowed, wary, eyes. “You watch too many American films. I’m embarrassed for you."  He's theatrically unimpressed, but Rachel remains resolute, taking advantage of her standing position to look down at him archly.  
  
  
  


“Deal,” he concedes with a sigh and slides his hand into hers, grasping onto it much tighter than necessary.  
  
  
  


He pumps her hand slowly, and it takes all of Rachel’s composure not to let the press on his thumb against the fine bones of her hand send a blush up her neck. _Strong hands_ she thinks hopelessly, and she watches his eyes darken subtly when he stops moving to simply hold her hand in his. _He had strong hands._  
  
  
  


“I thought you were alone,” an unfamiliar voice emerges from somewhere behind them and Rachel stops mid thought, her gaze and hand ripped away from Young Do’s. It’s an older man, perhaps in his early 50’s, a useless, self-satisfied look about him that assures Rachel that he is likely a lawyer.  She can feel Young Do tense behind her, and Rachel smoothes her surprise into a blank stare.  
  
  
  


“But what’s this,” the man smiles, bowing slightly to Young Do. “High school romance?”  
  
  
  


Rachel doesn’t appreciate the sly look, nor the implication behind his words. But what she appreciates even less is the lack of respect aimed at the both of them. This likely meant that he was one of the lawyers Young Do’s father assembled to keep the company running smoothly until Young Do was able to properly take over. Rachel watches the man with thinned lips and calculating eyes.  
  
  
  


“Lee byeonhosa-nim,” Young Do says stiffly, formally, and devoid of any emotion. “The knock-first stipulation was not a suggestion,” Rachel sees the very thin, insincere deference to the man’s age, and Young Do is irritated. That he cannot hide.  
  
  
  


“Well, I see why you needed to make such a request,” the man says with condescension, and Rachel feels the anger and disgust surge up swiftly.  
  
  
  


“The woman you have just tactlessly insulted is Yoo Rachel,” Young Do gestures, eyebrows drawn low and threatening over a sharp, humourless smile. “Heir of RS International, and you have just interrupted our business meeting.”  
  
  
  


The man stops, a folder in hand and looks back at Rachel with new eyes. “My apologies,” he offers unapologetically, and dips his head into a half-hearted bow. Rachel mirrors his bow in a perfunctory, meaningless show of respect.  
  
  
  


The lawyer’s eyes shift from Rachel to Young Do behind her, and Rachel can just imagine the picture they make. Young Do looking dark, impassive, and forbidding behind his desk while Rachel sits with an icy, austere expression that she hopes conveys all the estimation she has for this man. None.  
  
  
  


“They require your signature,” the lawyer clears his throat and sets the folder of paper onto the desk. “For the reception,” he clarifies when Young Do continues to look at him flatly, Rachel’s eyes a second crosshair on the side of his head.  
  
  
  


“Thank you. You can leave.”  
  
  
  


The man gives another, deeper bow, and backs away from them with curious, wary eyes. So different from the air of superiority of his initial entrance. Rachel would have sneered if she didn't have impeccable manners, schooled in business etiquette by Esther Lee, the master herself.  
  
  
  


Young Do looks thunderous when she turns back around, his glare fixated on the door and his fists clenched tightly against the desk. Clearly, succeeding in this task for his Father was important enough for Young Do to exercise restraint, something she was only starting to become accustomed to. Only months before, Rachel would likely have sat by while Young Do tore the man to ribbons with his impertinence and razor sharp tongue, likely undoing any and all good work by confirming their assumptions that he was a disrespectful child. It was a different Young Do, she thinks, tracing the contempt in his squared jaw and the frustration in the deep breaths he was taking to calm himself down. It made her slightly proud.  
  
  
  


“I’ll find a way to fire him,” Young Do says like an apology, still furious where he watches the doors and if her eyes aren’t deceiving her, he is flushed with embarrassment.  
  
  
  


“Don’t hit him Young Do,” Rachel advises, indifferent tone drawing his attention back to her. She appreciated the apology, but she hardly needed one. Navigating this world was a constant lesson in the sexist, disrespectful, practices of men. Every lesson was just another opportunity for her to lay waste to their pitiful little notions and egos. She didn’t need apologies. “Bloody knuckles and bloody lips don’t go well with Tom Ford.”  
  
  
  


Young Do snorts, sliding his attention back to her with hooded eyes. “They do when I wear it.”  
  
  
  


“Friday then,” she says firmly, ignoring whatever mental image came with a well-dressed Young Do with blood at his lip. He wouldn’t have to do this alone; the past year had confirmed for Rachel that they made a good team, and she clearly couldn’t leave him to his own devices--just look where that had gotten him with Cha Eun Sang. Or Tan for that matter.  
  
  
  


Young Do’s eyes flash slightly in surprise, but her words are enough to coax a familiar, feral grin out of him.  
  
  
  


“Friday,” he agrees.  
  
  
  
  


* * *

   
  
  


The rest of the school day is uneventful, but try as she might, Young Do does not stray far from her mind. Its why, when she arrives home that evening, ready to convince her mother than her attendance at Young Do’s event was nothing more than business, she is surprised to find her Mother and two unidentified men sitting in their parlour, drinking.  
  
  
  


Rachel stops short at the entrance unable to school her expression fast enough when her Mother turns to look at her.  
  
  
  


“Ah,” Esther says blandly, but with a charming enough smile. “This is my daughter Rachel,” she gestures for Rachel to come closer, the men already turning in their chair to greet her. “Rachel, this is Kichiro Matsuda, Director of Kazahana International’s merchandising. And this is his son,” Esther gestures to a taller man, “Hiro Matsuda, Manager of Kazahana International’s Public Relations.”  
  
  
  


“Kichiro Matsuda-san, Hiro-Matsuda-san,” Rachel enters a deep bow, her Japanese impeccable as she greets them formally. Matsuda appears to be shy of 60, possibly younger judging by his unblemished skin and bright eyes. Handsome and distinguished, Rachel is intrigued by the genuine smile that spreads across his face as he returns her bow. His son is nearly a head taller than his father while sitting, making his own bow more of a short nod to avoid looking comically off balance. He has kind eyes when he looks back at Rachel expectantly, but by the stiff way he holds himself, Rachel gets the impression that this is a man who is very in control of himself and his appearance.  
  
  
  


“I appreciate the introduction, but let’s not be so formal,” the elder Matsuda responds in Korean, shooting Esther a genial look over his glass. “It’s my hope that our companies can develop a comfortable, enduring relationship. I’d like that to start here, if you don’t mind.”  
  
  
  


“Not at all,” Esther answers for the both of them, and gestures for Rachel to take the empty seat to her left. “I assure you, we only want the same things. I’m pleased that Rachel could join us,” and here, Rachel feels the phantom press of her mother’s claws with her words and keeps her face impassive lest she betray her discomfort in front of their surprise guests. If this was what her mother had in mind, she could have informed Rachel of it in the morning. “She is quite dedicated to her studies,” Esther puts on a good show of pride, smiling encouragingly at Rachel with closed lips. “I doubt there are many with an ambition like hers.”  
  
  
  


Rachel hated it when her mother spoke about her like she was showing off a prize, like she wasn’t even there to speak for herself. Matsuda nods kindly, but when Rachel’s eyes stray back to Hiro she finds him studying her. It isn’t lecherous, nor condescending, but Rachel bristles with the knowledge that he is sizing her up. And so blatantly, too. She meets his eyes and gives a warning arch of her brow at his gumption.  
  
  
  


Etiquette and formalities were one thing, but Rachel can see those lines being erased one by one as he gives a small, conciliatory smile to her, one that goes unnoticed by the others amidst the machine-like fawning by her mother.  Rachel narrows her eyes. _What was this_?  
  
  
  


“I’m not surprised,” Matsuda responds, and sets his glass on the table. “You seem like a very capable young lady. I imagine you have University in mind? My son has only recently returned from his own studies abroad.”  
  
  
  


“Is that so,” Esther chimes in, and Rachel wonders if the sound she hears are the wheels in her mother’s head turning, or if it’s just the clinking of the ice in Matsuda’s tumbler.

 

“I’m not sure that ‘recently’ is the correct word,” Hiro laughs charmingly, and Rachel’s eyes are locked on the way his cheek dimples, a pretty affection for an otherwise strong looking face. “I received my MBA in America two years ago,” he clarifies.  
  
  
  


“Ah,” Esther gestures to Rachel. “That’s where Rachel will be attending school.”  
  
  
  


“Really,” he says like he isn’t the least bit surprised, and at their social status, who would be? “Can I ask what school you have in mind?” She wonders, watching him, if he is so self-absorbed to believe his interest pretty or warranted, or if he just didn’t take her seriously.  
  
  
  


“The Ivy League,” Rachel offers simply, politely. “I’m deciding between Wharton and Yale.”  
  
  
  


The elder Matsuda nods and Hiro, clearly engaged in the conversation, leans forward in his chair. “Those are excellent schools, but have you considered the West Coast? Stanford has the best business school in the country.”  
  
  
  


Rachel’s eyes narrow. A Stanford graduate then, interesting. “I don’t like the beach. Or the people on them.”  
  
  
  


“Rachel,” her Mother warns softly, and Rachel feels a pinprick of irritation. Perhaps she was being uncharitable, but her Mother had sprung this on her like a trap. Besides, the longer she spent with Young Do, the sharper and more primed her retorts became.  
  
  
  


Hiro Matsuda smiles, clearly amused, and settles back into his chair. “East Coast, then,” he concedes to her, and wisely keeps any further _advice_ to himself. Beside him, his Father chuckles and takes another sip of his whisky.  
  
  
  


“Well,” Esther interrupts, “perhaps that is something you can discuss at Zeus’ reception this Friday.” Rachel’s head snaps back to her mother. How had—“It is our intention that Rachel become more familiar with the operations of our Japanese partnerships, and I would appreciate your help in this Mr. Matsuda,” she nods to Hiro and Rachel is overcome by a familiar feeling of resignation and dread.  
  
  
  


“Young Do’s reception?” Rachel questions softly but tersely. It’s clear that referencing Young Do’s name is ill advised judging by the sharp look Esther delivers her. “Are you not going to attend, Omma?”  
  
  
  


“Mr.Matsuda and I will be dining with our own investors. I think it best that you and Hiro attend in our stead. And I assure you, it won’t be a waste of your time,” Esther directs this to Hiro, deliberately ignoring Rachel’s surprise. “The most influential business investors in all of Seoul will be taking advantage of the free wine. Rachel would be pleased to help you navigate our waters. Rachel?”  
  
  
  


Rachel blinks and quickly removes herself from her stupor. She didn’t even need to open her mouth to ask about the reception, her mother was offering it to her on a silver platter. It’s an unsettling feeling, one that Rachel cannot help but be a little bit suspicious of, as nothing ever worked quite so seamlessly for her. Especially not where her mother or Young Do were concerned. And now, her mother was asking her to play hostess to this man she had just met. A future business partner, maybe, but Rachel wondered if he may just be another name on Esther Lee’s list of suitable matches for Rachel’s future. Unlikely though, Rachel thinks, and shifts back to Hiro Matsuda who is sitting there patiently, unassuming but watchful in his well-tailored suit and expensive haircut.  Unless this man wielded more influence than the position he held, Rachel couldn’t see _merger_ behind Esther’s eyes.  
  
  
  


“I’d be happy to,” Rachel says, but as both Matsudas smile their gratitude and her mother fills the pause with her meaningless chatter, she can’t help but think that this wasn’t exactly what Young Do had in mind when he asked her for a favour.  
  
  
  


Their discussion goes on for some time, and Rachel does her best not to appear too affronted or bored. She gives her opinion when it’s asked for, and Hiro Matsuda seeks it often. The more he speaks, and the more he actually listens to what Rachel has to say, the more she has to change her initial estimation of the man. He was smart, she could see that, and while this was the absolute worst audience to use that smile on, it wasn’t an insincere one. She didn’t quite know what to make of it, or him.  
  
  
  


When the men are ready to leave, Esther and the elder Matsuda walk ahead, heads bent slightly together in earnest discussion. This leaves both Rachel and Hiro idling at the entrance behind them.  
  
  
  


“I appreciate the offer, but you don’t need to escort me to this event,” he says, leaving no room for silence to settle as they move towards the door. Rachel looks to him with interest and thinks that perhaps he’d read the situation better than she thought. A maid pauses at the handle, waiting for them.  
  
  
  


“I’ve heard it’s the man’s job to escort the woman,” she deadpans, too tired to maintain more polite conversation. She watches him stick his hands in his pocket and refrains from crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
  
  


“Something tells me you don’t need an escort,” he says frankly but not unkindly, and Rachel wonders again how old he actually was. He was young, clearly, and he spoke to her as if he had no conception of age and etiquette in their country.  But there was also something steady and easy about him. Not quite like Young Do’s languid, predator in wait, but capable and alert just the same.  
  
  
  


“Only someone to hold my bag,” she responds blithely and it earns her another smile.  
  
  
  


“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Hiro says seriously and dips his tall frame into a bow. “I look forward to discussing our business further. Perhaps even Stanford,” he dimples again. _Not likely,_ Rachel thinks, but drops into a deep, appreciative, formal bow anyways. If he can read her blank expression, he says nothing about it.  
  
  
  


“Until Friday, then.”  
  
  
  


“Friday,” Rachel echoes for the second time that day.  
  
  
  


 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Esther is equal parts pleased with last night’s meeting, and disappointed in Rachel's behaviour. Breakfast is a stifling affair where Rachel bears her Mother’s needling in bored silence, staring at the melon on her plate rather than consuming it.  
  
  
  


“You were rude to our guests,” Esther says, bringing the coffee cup to her lips. “Luckily, our business deal is a near certainty at this point, and you’re fortunate that Mr.Matsuda and his son are so…good humoured,” at Esther's hesitation, Rachel raises a brow in agreement. It seemed her Mother shared her feelings on the off-putting friendliness of the two men.  
  
  
  


“If I was rude, they didn’t seem bothered,” Rachel dismisses, hoping her Mother understood how she’d felt about being trapped last night. When her Mother stares at her expectantly; however, Rachel rolls her eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry,” Rachel offers without real sincerity. “I was caught off guard and tired from school. It won’t happen again.”  
  
  
  


Esther watches her daughter, measuring Rachel’s words with a small frown. “Tired from school? I don’t like the sound of that Rachel. Are you still not sleeping? I thought you spoke to the doctor.”  
  
  
  


Rachel spears a piece of melon with her fork. “I have it handled Omma. Just a few math problems I wasn’t happy with. It’s nothing important, I have it solved now.”  
  
  
  


This seems to placate her Mother, who goes back to her coffee with measured sips. “Well, I’ll expect you to be more pleasant this Friday. This is an excellent opportunity for you Rachel. Hiro Matsuda is quite accomplished for his age. He turned down a Director of marketing position so that he could better establish himself among his superiors. He wants to earn his position, it seems. Admirable,” Esther observes distractedly, smile thin. _But foolish_ , Rachel finishes for her Mother. Esther wasn’t greatly impressed by acts of nobility, no matter how well the act recommended the person.  
  
  
  


The fact that Hiro Matsuda had done so; however, intrigues Rachel. From what she had gathered last night, he was hard-working and intelligent, of fine pedigree and equipped with a natural charisma that befitted corporate promotions.  Despite the smile, something told Rachel that a 20-something year old didn’t achieve head of publicity at a major fashion company without sharp teeth and a taste for blood in water. No matter their family connections. That he’d given up a better position so that he could prove his worth was either naive or painfully clever.  
  
  
  


Rachel would go with her first estimation of him. Kind or not, he clearly wielded impressive control over his image and person.  
  
  
  


 _We’ll see_ , Rachel wants to say. “Well, if he’s as impressive as you say then I won’t be disappointed,” she says instead and with enough resigned contempt that her mother raises a warning brow. “I’m sure I can return the favour when we’re properly established in Japan.”  
  
  
  


It’s arrogant enough that Esther would be right to call Rachel out on her uncharacteristic display. However, her Mother just smiles approvingly and brings the coffee back to her lips. “Good.”  
  
  
  


“Omma,” she thinks to bring up Young Do, thinks too much of Young Do if she’s honest with herself. But she also thinks back to her Mother’s reaction when she’d brought up his name last night, a warning in her eyes and a dismissal in her tone. “I’ll leave first,” she announces instead.  
  
  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  
Rachel doesn’t interact with Chan Young on a regular basis, even less so now that she’s distanced herself from the group that kept Tan so closely encircled. She imagines he doesn’t have a very high opinion of her, but she doesn’t waste much of her time thinking about him either, especially not when the affair with Eun Sang had muddied the waters for anyone involved.  Between Bo Na’s defensive and irritating obsession with him, and his friendship with Eun Sang,  Chan Young keeps enough troubling company that she doesn’t really care to extend their acquaintanceship. He’d made it perfectly clear that he disapproved, even resented the way she’d treated Eun Sang, but with his position, he’d never been able to voice it. She would have loved to see him try.  
  
  
  


He’s smart though, the only person in this school to keep rank with her, and she suspects that he isn’t overly fond of Tan either, which is always a good thing where Rachel is concerned. He’s quiet and keeps his distance. On the off chance that they are paired together for a project, she finds it a relatively peaceful experience since she doesn’t waste her breath instructing a lesser being on the finer points of academic success.  Peaceful, until Bo Na finds them. And she always does.  
  
  
  


This time, Rachel and Chan Young are tucked in the back corner of the library, work spread out before them on the large oak table when Bo Na appears.  
  
  
  


“What is _this_ ,” Bo Na’s accusation rings out through the otherwise silent library, voice tearing right through Rachel’s concentration. Rachel sighs and shoots Chan Young an aggrieved look over the wooden table they were sharing, a stack of books hiding most of his resigned expression.  
  
  
  


“Our English project,” he offers, smiling that disarming smile of his that chips away at the edges in Bo Na’s put upon expression. He’s good, Rachel thinks charitably, but Bo Na’s suspicion is always better. She stands, hands on her hips, and glares at Rachel.  
  
  
  


“Oh?” Bo Na frowns and steps closer to her boyfriend. “I don’t remember any English project.”  
  
  
  


“You would if you paid attention in class instead of mooning over your boyfriend.” Rachel offers, eyes still on the book in front of her, determined to wade this out until Bo Na tires. Rachel has been Bo Na’s “friend” since they were children. Whatever their current status, anticipating Bo Na’s reactions is like breathing. “Congratulations,” she says airily, “you were paired up with Eun Sang.”  
  
  
  


Chan Young coughs and sends Rachel a disapproving look when Bo Na sucks a breath through her teeth. “Ya,” Bo Na scoffs, defensive. “I don’t _moon_. I pay my boyfriend the attention he deserves!” Bo Na sits down heavily in the seat next to Chan Young, wrapping herself possessively around his upper arm. “Are you implying that some _book_ is more important than Chan Young?” She switches to English as if to prove her point. “I’m speechless.”  
  
  
  


“Clearly not,” Rachel says under her breath, but is too defeated to aggravate Bo Na any more. Bo Na could reach an impressive level of shrill that Rachel couldn’t stomach at present.  “Chan Young,” Rachel changes the subject, “do you have _Sons and Lovers_? I think we should compare it to Lawrence’s _Women in Love._ ”  
  
  
  


“No,” he says, scanning the stack of literature in front of them with a frown. Beside him, Bo Na’s eyes dart suspiciously between the two, as if D.H Lawrence was some sort of code. “I’m sure it’s on the shelf. I can get it.”  
  
  
  


“It’s fine,” Rachel clears her throat, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Like she wanted to stick around for the inevitable sickening display, anyways. “I’ll—“  
  
  
  


“Well doesn’t this look cozy,” a low voice emerges from somewhere behind Rachel, freezing her where she sits.  
  
  
  


“Young Do,” Chan Young gives a cautious greeting.  Following Bo Na's look of disdain, Rachel turns in her seat to find all 6 feet 2 inches of Young Do standing just behind her, in uniform, hands shoved into his pockets. _What was he doing here?_  
  
  
  


“What are you doing here?” Rachel asks, unable to hide her surprise, and watches as he turns his attention and smirk onto her.  
  
  
  


“I hear we’re in the running for cutest couple,” Young Do says, sickeningly sweet, and despite her uneasiness, Rachel has to bite down into her lip to stop herself from smiling at the outraged expression on Bo Na’s face. “I came back to compete. Here,” he pulls one of his hands out of his pocket, the ridiculous purple phone in hand, and sets it on the table in front of Rachel. “You forgot your phone—“  
  
  
  


“If you say sweetheart, honey, or dear, I will _ruin_ you,” Rachel warns quickly, amusement erased at the sight of that phone and the implication behind it. She risks a look over to Bo Na and Chan Young who are staring at Rachel expectantly, and Rachel feels the telltale flush of embarrassment burning at her ears.  
  
  
  


“Ya,” Young Do chuckles and leans forward to brace himself against the table, the sleeve of his uniform jacket brushing her shoulder. “Isn’t she cute?”  
  
  
  


Bo Na gives a choked noise of disbelief and clutches Chan Young’s arm all the tighter. “You think you could ever compete against us?" She scoffs. "Have you seen Chan Young’s angelic cheeks? Young Do, you’ve spent too much time outside of sch—“  
  
  
  


“Bo Na, let’s not compare faces. You’ve seen Young Do, you aren’t stupid,” Rachel challenges without thinking, feeling competitive and annoyed all of a sudden. From the sharp, interested look Young Do gives her, she wishes she could take the words right back. This, this was why she distanced herself from them.  
  
  
  


“Ya,” Bo Na splutters, and Rachel refuses to look at Young Do who is burning a hole in the side of her head. “Yoo Rachel—"  
  
  
  


“Looks like it’s time to go,” Young Do interrupts suddenly, grabbing Rachel’s clenched hand off the table and sliding it between his own. “As fun as this is, we don’t want to spill blood before the main event. If you’ll excuse us,” he gives a mocking salute to an appalled Bo Na and a bewildered looking Chan Young before tugging Rachel up and out of her chair. “We need to have a very important discussion about how sexy my cheek bones are.”  
  
  
  


Against her better judgement, Rachel follows him but they aren’t even out of sight before she rips her hand from his and smacks him violently in the chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  
  
  
  


“I didn’t think you’d want an audience when you tell me more about my cheek bones,” he reasons sympathetically and Rachel thinks about kicking him in the shin.  
  


 

“Be serious,” she hisses, doing her best to keep the burn of embarrassment from travelling it’s way up her neck. A student nearby looks over at them in interest, and Rachel sees that they’ll likely have an audience anyways. Clenching her teeth, she takes him by the wrist and pulls him into a neighbouring aisle. “Did you have to bring that phone in again? I told you you weren’t funny.”  
  
  
  


“You left it in my suite,” he shrugs and then smiles sharply. “So, it looks like the rumours are _actually_ true.”  
  
  
  


Rachel shakes her head at him and asks a higher power for the patience she doesn’t have. “I don’t have time for this,” she rubs at her temple and turns away from him. “You interrupted my work with your little mind games, Young Do. Just because some of us can’t take the necessary time for school work, doesn’t mean they should sabotage those who can.” It was an unfair statement, she knew Young Do was having to forfeit his youth and schooling to keep his promise to his father.  
  
  
  


He doesn’t seem bothered by the comment, however, and simply tucks his hands back into his pocket. “I think Bo Na was doing a pretty good job of that before I graced your presence with these cheekbones. Or is that what you found so distracting?”  
  
  
  


“I don’t have time for this, “ she repeats, suddenly exhausted. Couldn’t he understand that all she wanted was peace and quiet? She’d abandoned any notion that her time here actually mattered, such delusions were for the poor and untalented, or those trapped within so petty belief in the realness of their love lives. She wanted to be left alone. “I’m going to find a book,” she explains to him curtly, warning not to follow her clear in her eyes.  
  
  
  


She hears him follow her anyway.  
  
  
  


“I thought you’d be happy to see Oppa,” Young Do calls out, voice low and steady behind her. “I’m here, isn’t that what you wanted?”  
  
  
  


Rachel turns and serves him with a flat glare. “Don’t throw that back in my face.” The fact that he would try to tease her with that said more about his inability to accept legitimate concern, than her weakness in giving it. And he knew she hated being vulnerable. He knew that. “I ultimately don’t care what you waste your time on. What I don’t want, is to see you fail Young Do. You aren’t a peasant,” she continues, turning the corner into the aisle that she needs, Young Do still following a few steps behind her. “So don’t suffer the same fate as one. It’s tacky, and your wardrobe is far too expensive for that.”  
  
  
  


Rachel hears him exhale deeply and can just imagine the look on his face, brows sky high and fingertips pressed to the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t say anything though, and Rachel takes that as answer enough.  
  
  
  


She was on edge, even she could recognize that. She had been since he’d first texted her. It made her waspish and more verbally aggressive than usual, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She felt unfit to be in her own skin right now, itchy and uncomfortable with no real reason to be.  
  
  
  


She pauses at the shelf she needs and inhales a deep, indulgent breath to regain her usual composure.  
  
  
  


“Why are you here,” she asks after a moment and hears him behind her, the subtle sound of clothes rustling when he leans against the shelf. “You’ve missed nearly every single period so I can’t imagine it’s for the attendance mark. And don’t you _dare_ tell me it was to bring back that god awful phone.”  
  
  
  


She hears the smirk in his voice when he answers. “You seem awfully obsessed with that phone, Rachel. What’s getting you all hot and bothered? Is it the colour or the fact that I bought it for you?”  
  
  
  


Rachel scoffs. “Don’t make me laugh.”    
  
  
  


“I didn’t know that was possible.”  
  
  
  


Rachel thins her lips and brushes her fingers along a few books, ignoring him. _F..Flaubert…Findlay..E…_ “Of course you wouldn’t know,” she says, and is forced to rise onto her toes on the step stool to even get a good look at the row of books above her. “I don’t find you funny.”    
  
  
  


 “You’re mistaken. I’m hilarious.”    
  
  
  


“I assure you, you’re not.”   There’s a pause, but Rachel is too focused on scanning the row (without any of Young Do’s help, might she add) to notice his change in demeanor.     
  
  
  


“I am,” he protests in that sly manner of his and suddenly he is beside her, right side leaning against the bookcase, arms crossed. “How would a robot know. Do you even smile?” Rachel shoots him a glare from under her outstretched arm, unimpressed by the consistent reference to her so called mechanical heart.  
  
  
  


Young Do sucks in a breath and peers at her face, impertinent. “No lines anywhere.”    
  
  
  


“I take care of my skin.”   
  
  
  


“Or you’ve never laughed in your life.” He smirks and Rachel knows he’s only doing it to infuriate her, which is why she goes back to her task with a barely contained scowl. _Kafka…Keynes…_  
  
  
  


“I’m here for my homework,” Young Do refers back to her initial question and she hears him settle in more closely against the shelf. “That bastard Myung Soo got himself sick, so I’m forced to make an appearance. And,” he pauses, hesitating for a long moment. “I need to talk to you.”  
  
  
  


Why weren’t these books alphabetized properly? Rachel sighs, irritated by the lack of organization in what was supposed to be a fine institution. D.H Lawrence should come before T.E. Lawrence, and yet she was plainly staring at William Faulkner’s _The Sound and the Fury_   where _Sons and Lovers_ should be.  
  
  
  


“Rachel,” Young Do presses, annoyed.  
  
  
  


“What,” she mutters distractedly, eyes narrowing on the shelf just out of her reach. _Larkin, Lanier, Lewis…_     
  
  
  


“It’s the third book from your right,” he says, startling her enough that she stills, hand outstretched.  She turns to see him watching her with a tight expression on his face.  
  
  
  


“The book you’re looking for,” he inclines his head slightly, hair brushing the book spines and nods to a book bound in blue and red. Rachel looks to the right, exactly the third book and simply stares.  He’d basically fed fire to their relationship rumour with that damn phone, ignored her obvious annoyance and planted himself against the shelves as she went about her business. He watched as she’d struggled to find the book she needed, and did nothing but provide unhelpful, asinine comments the entire time. This was her punishment for Tan, surely. Young Do had to be her punishment.     
  
  
  


“How did you know what book I was looking for,” she starts after a moment and watches that obnoxious grin curl slowly at the corner of his mouth.  
  
  
  


“I heard you ask Chan Young for it. _Sons and Lovers,_ ” he raises a brow. “Sounds juicy.”  
  
  
  


 _Just how long had he been there?_  “And you decided to keep this to yourself?”    
  
  
  


“You seemed determined,” he shrugs. He smiles with far too many teeth and Rachel closes her eyes to steady herself against the sudden urge to do great violence.  
  
  


“Oppa will get it for you.”    
  
  
  


“Don’t you dare,” she orders and slaps his hand away from her book.  
  
  
  


“Rachel,” he rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about your pride. You’re half my size just let me--ya” he actually gapes at her, hand stinging where she’d slapped him again. There’s a brief moment where they glare at one another before there’s an eruption of sudden movement, both straining to get the book first. Of course, Young Do, with his sheer length and arm span has the advantage, but Rachel manages to land her elbow in his solar plexus with enough force that he doubles over.  Doubles over into her.    
  
  
  


“Ya,” he huffs directly into her ear, steadying himself with his other hand so as not to crush her against the bookshelf. “You fight dirty.”    
  
  
  


Of course, is what she wants to retort with but she finds she can’t. The book is in Young Do’s outstretched hand, her own grasping fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist and her other hand pressed flat against a row of books to balance herself on her stool. She is between Young Do and the bookshelf, and while he has done his best to curve himself around her body, she can still feel his warm breath against her ear and his pulse beneath her fingers. It unsettles her.  For a brief moment, she closes her eyes.   
  
  
  


Rachel swallows hard and feels her breath shake in her lungs when she inhales to speak. “Give me my book and get off of me,” she manages sharply.    
  
  
  


He’s very still behind her— maybe he’s surprised, maybe he’s playing with her, she doesn’t know and she refuses to think that she wants to know. He moves almost immediately though, shifting his weight to the side so that he is leaning against the shelves beside her again, his arm still outstretched above her head and his hand still on the book.  "Then," he says, quietly, calmly. "Let go of my wrist."  
  
  
  


Rachel stares up at him from under her arm. Everything in his body has gone quiet and had she not had her finger on his pulse she wouldn't think he was even breathing. He is impassive, watching her intently as she watches him right back.  
  
  
  


Damn it.  
  
  
  


Her ears are red, she knows this because her hair is caught behind her ear and Young Do's lazy look is caught somewhere between there. She refuses to be embarrassed.  
  
  
  


She drops her grasp on his wrist slowly, like it doesn't matter to her that it was there in the first place. He doesn’t move away from her, but when she looks up to him she is thrown by the perplexed look on his face. He looks at her like he’s doing his best to place her, and the look is so intense and bare that she feels her heart stutter in panic.  
  
  
  


“I’m bringing someone to your reception,” she finds herself saying before she even realizes the words were on her tongue.  
  
  
  


“What?” Young Do blinks without comprehension.  
  
  
  


“I,” she inhales a deep breath to compose herself. “My mother requested that I bring a business associate to Zeus,” she explains, and finds that the longer he looks at her with that furrowed brow, the harder it is to stop the words from falling out of her mouth. “He’s part of a potential business deal between our companies, and my Mother wants to show her gratitude by introducing him to other investors. And,” she admits with some bitter resignation, “for me to _learn_ from him.”  
  
  
  


“Another husband?” Young Do says carefully, and Rachel makes a face.  
  
  
  


“Hardly, he’s barely 30.”  
  
  
  


“For you then,” Young Do says, and it’s more a statement than a question as he all but pushes her back against the bookshelf with the force of his stare. He isn’t pleased, but she suspected as much. She was supposed to assist him, not play guide to a Japanese business man with a kind smile and sharp eyes.  
  
  
  


“I don’t think so,” Rachel shakes her head, feeling more steady now. “I doubt he’s influential enough to satisfy my Mother’s requirements.” Though there was something about him, Rachel could admit. She disliked the eager and loose way he talked to her, but she’d felt his respect in those few short moments together. Not many men recognized her capability or superiority without her uttering a word. She was intrigued, at the very least. She wondered if he was taller than Young Do.  
  
  
  


As if sensing the hesitation in her answer, Young Do’s mouth turns sharp suddenly, the smirk a familiar shade of callous.  
  
  
  


“Whatever,” he dismisses, pushing himself off of the shelf and away from her. “Whether you exchange kisses or business contacts, I don’t care. Just remember why you’re coming in the first place,” he continues before she can voice her outrage at his childish, unfair remark, “Here,” he mutters, and shoves the book into her hands. He brushes past her without another look or another word, and Rachel is forced to watch him go.  
  
  
  


What the hell was his problem? Why did he even bother coming in the first place if he was going to be so infuriatingly rude.  
  
  
  


Rachel presses the book tighter to her chest, thumb absentmindedly pressing into the pages and giving herself shallow paper cuts in the process.  Tucking away the shaky remnants of his touch on her skin, she tightens her grip on the book and wonders what he wanted to talk to her about.    
  
  
  
  
“Rachel.”  
  
  
  
  
Rachel jerks slightly in surprise, eyes wide where she finds Bo Na at the opposite and of the aisle, watching Rachel with a careful expression on her face.  
  
  
  
  
“What is it,” Rachel snaps, the bite losing some of its teeth as she attempts to regain her composure. She deliberately refuses to look back at Young Do’s exit.  
  
  
  
  
Bo Na hesitates for a moment. “Chan Young found his copy of the book.”  
  
  
  
  
“Oh,” Rachel clears her throat and gestures down to the one she’d...found. “Well it will be more efficient with two. Good.”  
  
  
  
  
Bo Na continues to stand there, shifting uncomfortably and Rachel knows, in that moment, that she’d heard something.  
  
  
  
  
“You’re going to the reception on Friday?” Bo Na asks carefully, watching Rachel with an assessing gaze that it equal parts concern and caution as if she was approaching a feral animal.  
  
  
  
  
“Yes but I won’t be wasting my time with the wine and music like you will. Some of us have to work,” Rachel says flatly, cruelly and she watches Bo Na’s tentative expression bristle into annoyance. Good.  
  
  
  
  
“Don’t forget your phone,” Bo Na snaps back as Rachel brushes past her, and Rachel tenses. Damn Young Do. And damn that stupid phone.   
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Rachel and Young Do have never simply been friends, there has _always_ been an undercurrent to their relationship. The problem with their relationship, of course, has always been Tan.  When Rachel first met Tan, it was also the first time she’d met Young Do. Dazzled by the kind eyed boy with the floppy brown hair, Rachel hadn’t wasted two seconds on his taller, much more villainous looking friend. Young Do, whose very blood seemed to be coloured by a particular shade of jealousy, hadn’t taken kindly to that.  The early years of their acquaintanceship had been a grapple for Tan’s attention and affections.  
  
  
  
The problem wasn’t that lanky, temperamental Young Do insisted on pulling her pigtails (both literally and figuratively) but rather that Young Do brought her impatience and aggression to the surface. While she was trying her best to appear the soft petal rose for Tan, Young Do was determined to bring the ugliness to the surface. And he did, often. Because where Young Do was concerned, Rachel had as much control over her temper as she did Tan’s wandering eye.  
  
  
  
When Tan abandoned them, the empty space never got filled. While Young Do pretended it had never been there in the first place, assuming his throne with vengeful pleasure, Rachel could not.  Privately, she was relieved. Assured a marriage and a position out of that space, Rachel could move on with her life with confidence. She didn’t have to work for Tan’s attentions because they were already promised to her. She went on, manipulating that space into the kind of fiancé and boyfriend she’d always wanted and people had no reason to believe otherwise.  
  
  
  
Everyone, except for Young Do. And because they had been each other’s reluctant, combative companion for so long, they remained in their positions around Tan’s empty space. Inert, like they were waiting to start up again.  
  
  
  
The thing was though, more than Tan ever had, ever wanted to, or ever would, Young Do understood her. Like recognized like, she supposed, and for a brief period of time they were close. Without Tan, they discovered that their common ground extended far past the second Jeguk son, and there was a sense of ease in that. It was comfortable. But then Tan came back with Eun Sang in tow and there was nothing easy about it any longer. What hurt most was the fact that Young Do suddenly wasn’t able to look at her and understand. He dismissed her actions as the petty hysteria of a petulant child, too clouded by his own feelings for Eun Sang, complicated by Tan’s every uncharacteristic and foreign movement.  
  
  
  
So even when the engagement brought Rachel and Young Do closer in their pain and potential sibling-hood, something had soured. The undercurrent was no longer pregnant with childish jealousy over the attentions of Tan. It was electric and heavy, tense for another reason altogether despite the fact that they had settled themselves into the most mature, calm form their friendship had ever taken.  
  
  
  
Rachel felt it, but refused to dwell on it. She was honest to herself in everything but this. She couldn’t afford to be honest with herself where Young Do was concerned. There was too much at stake.  
  
  
  
Despite the fact that she had convinced herself that Young Do’s favour was nothing more than the request of a friend, that undercurrent was an itch beneath her skin, a lingering pressure in her mind that night as she got ready for the reception.  
  
  
  
“Blue,” her Mother muses, interest in her eyes as she examines the fine lines of Zuhair Murad flowing off of Rachel’s body. Rachel allowed her mother’s expert, assessing gaze, she herself too focused on twisting her hair up just so. The dress had a bateau neckline, perfect for displaying the soft lines of her elegant neck. The colour, more of bluish violet than a true blue brought out the cooler tones from her skin, a suitable cast for a girl with ice in her veins.  
  
  
  
That the sheer sleeves of her dress shimmered violet in the lighting rather than the blue they appeared was the reason she’d chosen the dress in the first place.  
  
  
  
“Not quite Omma,” she says, eyes lingering on the purple undertones of the dress.  
  
  
  
“Well you look beautiful,” her mother smiles, honest, and Rachel takes the compliment in a stride, too focused on ensuring that the dress sit just right. “I appreciate you doing this Rachel,” Esther continues, rising from the arm of the loveseat she’d been perched on, catching her daughter’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “It’s important that we foster these relationships now. It will make our debut into the Japanese market all the easier.”  
  
  
  
“Not at all Omma,” she drawls, chin inclined. “I plan on utilizing Hiro Matsuda-san to the best of my abilities.”  
  
  
  
It’s a catty comment, but Esther presses her lips together to quell a smile. “Just make sure he has a good time tonight.  It would be best to keep him away from Young Do.”  
  
  
  
That catches Rachel’s attention. “Why?”  
  
  
  
Esther tilts her head slightly to the side, quiet for a moment. “Just a precaution,” she answers enigmatically and smiles again. “Have a good time tonight,” she steals forward to press a warm hand to the inside of Rachel’s wrist and leaves before Rachel can attempt to question her further.  
  
  
  
Odd, Rachel thinks, wondering why so much of tonight seemed to be about Young Do.  
  
  
  
Glancing down at her bare feet, she sighs. Forget Young Do, what shoes would she wear?

* * *

 

Hiro Matsuda arrives promptly at 7, black sedan and a welcoming smile waiting for her when she comes down the stairs.  
  
  
  
“You look lovely,” he says after the customary bow, and Rachel pauses at the last step wondering how exactly she should file him away. He is older than her, nearly a decade at the age of 27. She is sure that there is interest there, how could there not be when she looked this good, was this brilliant, and had an empire in her future. However, she can tell that all the women, kindness, and new experiences would never tempt him past a basic interest. Because he was like her, more interested in excelling in his chosen field on his own terms, and too focused to let interest become anything more than exactly that. It was these similarities that settled things for her. That, and the fact that he had an unfortunate American tendency to speak to her like they were already friends. Distasteful, if not mildly amusing.     
  
  
  
“I do,” she says, but smiles a bit to show her gratitude, quickly figuring out that this was a man who exchanged sentiments through such tacky expressions.  
  
  
  
He opens the door for her and Rachel slides in.  
  
  
  
“I feel as though I should set the boundaries before we begin,” Rachel says, brushing a wayward strand of hair off of her neck. She shifts in her seat and crosses a long leg over her thigh. Hiro stares only for a moment, seatbelt in his hand.  
  
  
  
“Alright,” he says, amused when she levels him with a short look. “What are those?”  
  
  
  
“There will be no talk of Stanford,” she smiles tightly, sweetly. “Clear?”  
  
  
  
Matsuda heaves a long breath and shoves the buckle into the holster, chuckling because he can do little else. “Then that goes for Yale as well,” he replies, and she raises an eyebrow.  
  
  
  
Well then. “Deal.”  
  
  
  
When they arrive, the room is already filled, the volume of chatter leaving their entrance undetected. She recognizes nearly everyone, from the other board members her Mother had once forced her to memorize, to the insignificant shareholders who were likely here for the free drink. And some, Rachel knew, looking around with her disdain well hidden, were here to catch a glimpse of Young Do in action.  
  
  
  
“Overwhelmed?” Rachel says to her guest, turning to find Hiro looking nothing of the sort. She wasn’t surprised, his very job was the management of public image, and he was managing his very well tonight. His dimples go well with the dark grey suit and blue tie, but it’s his height and posture that send several intrigued looks directly their way.  
  
  
  
“With a beautiful woman on my arm?” he shoots her a friendly smile before making a cursory glance back around the room. “Naturally.”  
  
  
  
Rachel smiles a little at that and brushes an errant strand of her fringe back. “Come along then, I’ll introduce you—“  
  
  
  
“She arrives,” Young Do emerges from somewhere to their left, drink in hand, and Rachel is startled enough to come to an abrupt stop. He looked good. He was wearing the Tom Ford.  
  
  
  
“She does,” she parries back, eyebrow raised. He has his mean smile on, sharp enough to cut, and Rachel already knows what to expect. She feels her patience thin just by looking at him, and they’d only been there for a few minutes.  “I see that your manners haven’t, though.”  
  
  
  
Young Do grins at that, and rocks back on his heel. “That’s a pretty dress,” he responds carefully, voice low and eyes anything but complementary. The superior smile slides right off of Rachel’s face.  She shifts back, closer to Hiro, and hopes that the light hides the purple from Young Do’s perceptive eyes.  
  
  
  
“Thank you. Young Do,” she inclines her head towards their forgotten guest who has the tact to keep his thoughts off of his face. “This is Hiro Matsuda-san, manager of Kazahana International’s public relations. Hiro, this is Choi Young Do. Heir of Zeus, and contrary to what his lack of manners might suggest, our host.”  
  
  
  
“It’s a pleasure,” Hiro bows respectfully, and Rachel isn’t surprised to find Young Do do the same. So, he wasn’t a complete child.  
  
  
  
“Likewise,” Young Do says, nodding slightly. “Any _friend_ of Rachel’s is a friend of Zeus.”  
  
  
  
Or maybe not.  
  
  
  
“I wouldn’t say that,” Hiro responds, not at all bothered by Young Do’s clear attempt at an insult. “I’m not sure Stanford graduates make her list, actually. _Ah_ ,” he shoots Rachel an apologetic smile and wields his dimples like he might wield a weapon. “The taboo subject. It won’t happen again.”  
  
  
  
When she turns back to look at Young Do he is glaring daggers at the side of Hiro’s head.  
  
  
  
“Excuse us Young Do,” she smiles blandly and tightens her grip on Hiro’s arm. “I promised to introduce Mr. Matsuda to a few of your guests.” She deliberately ignores Young Do’s caustic stare and can just imagine the thoughts running through his head. She’d also promised Young Do something, but at least for now, she wouldn’t be able to deliver.  
  
  
  
Hiro follows her, nodding again to Young Do, but wisely doesn’t speak another word. She wasn’t sure why her mother cautioned against them meeting in the first place. Hiro was nearly 10 years older and a professional in every capacity. Young Do’s antics, effective as they may be among their peers, were the stuff of children in Hiro’s eyes. The thought that Young Do could lose ground so quickly almost causes her to smirk.  
  
  
  
Of course Young Do would play the petulant victim. Embarrass her in front of a potential business partner, and smile like he enjoyed it. _Bastard_ , she thinks.  
  
  
  
“Wait,” Young Do stops them, smile tight. “Rachel? I need you for a second.”  
  
  
  
 _So?_ She wants to say, but the look in his eyes leaves room for little argument. She glares, but dutifully removes herself from Hiro’s arm. “I’ll be back,” she assures. “Help yourself to the wine.”  
  
  
  
Young Do walks them a few feet away and instinctively moves his hand up to grasp her wrist in his to maneuver them around a crowd. She cuts him off though, folding her arms under her chest and watches him blink back at her in mild surprise. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
  
  
He presses his lips together, smirking, and exhales through his nose. “Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you.”  
  
  
  
She scoffs, no longer interested in hearing what he had to say. “You can apologize to your guest later. To me? Don’t even bother.”  
  
  
  
“Rachel,” Young Do sighs and tucks his chin to his chest for just a moment. “I’m sorry.”  
  
  
  
She stops, not sure if she'd actually heard it. He’s looking at her though, exasperated and just the slightest bit guilty.  
  
  
  
“And Hiro?”  
  
  
  
He scoffs, eyes narrowed. “Not a chance.”  
  
  
  
Rachel thins her lip but doesn’t really know what she expected with that one. “It’s out of my control,” she reasons. “This is an important business venture for my mother, for _me_. I said I’d help you, and I will. But right now, I have to help myself. Understand?”  
  
  
  
He bites down hard into his cheek and only manages to look slightly less unhappy than he did when he’d met them at the door. He nods though, reluctantly, and Rachel is reminded of a child. It’s only then, looking at him in his resigned, angry slouch that Rachel realizes something is bothering him. It’s not nerves, no, those materialize in a different way. But this is the first time, since his Father was locked away, that Young Do is representing the company in such a capacity. She was sure the Vice-President was here somewhere, but that wasn’t who they had all come to see.  
  
  
  
She thinks back to Hiro and how she had compared them. They were nothing alike. Young Do was much more.  
  
  
  
She bites into her cheek to withhold a sigh and curses herself for her new-found weakness when it came to him.  
  
  
  
“Tom Ford,” she hums, ignoring his sharp look of suspicion when she steps closer to him again. She leans forward and settles her fingers against the lapels of his black suit jacket, brushing away imagined wrinkles with fine, careful lines. “Looks like you were right.”  
  
  
  
He says nothing for a moment, only watches her carefully as she moves on to his tie, the fabric smoothing under her fingertips. She makes sure to keep her movements and attention as brusque and impersonal as possible, aware of the audience around them. They are more than a foot apart, but even in her heels, she could be neatly tucked beneath his chin.    
  
  
  
“I believe we were dealing in suits and bloody lips, actually. But I’ll take the compliment,” he winks.  
  
  
  
“Are you asking?” she muses, stepping back from him and his _extremely_ well-tailored suit.  
  
  
  
“For you to hit me? Always.”  
  
  
  
“Oh don’t worry Young Do,” she smiles sweetly. “For that, you don’t even have to ask.”  
  
  
  
He snorts, smile pleased and sly. Despite herself, she finds a small smile curling at the corner of her mouth too.   
  
  
  
“I meant it, you know,” he gestures vaguely at her, assuming his usual insolent expression. “Your dress, it’s pretty.”  
  
  
  
She raises an eyebrow at that, unsure of how to take it.  
  
  
  
“And purple too,” he continues, and Rachel’s expression quickly sours. There it was. “I had hoped it was because Oppa had bought you the phone, but I see now. It’s the colour that gets you all hot and bothered.”  
  
  
  
“Shut up now,” she deadpans, the moment clearly over with, and a familiar feeling of regret swiftly overtakes any positive feelings that came with it.  
  
  
  
“The question is, why are you wearing it here?”  
  
  
  
“Goodbye, Young Do.”  
  
  
  
She doesn’t stop walking until she and Hiro are further into the crowd of people and away from Young Do. She wasn't sure if she should be comforted by the fact that Young Do was more predictable than she'd previously thought, or annoyed by the fact that she'd come to expect something more of him. She glances back, briefly, and sees that he's smirking after her. _Idiot._  
  
  
  
“So,” Hiro says, bringing her attention back to him and the task at hand. He retrieves a glass of chardonnay for her, and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that chardonnay was the wine of lesser beings. She hides her grimace and sips politely. “How long have you known each other?”  
  
  
  
“Young Do?” she sniffs dismissively, and definitely doesn't keep Young Do in her periphery. “Too long, I’m afraid.”  
  
  
  
Hiro smiles at that. “I can tell. The way you bicker...”  
  
  
  
“Like siblings? We nearly were. Once.” Rachel isn’t sure why she is telling him this, it wasn’t a particularly proud moment in her family’s recent history.  
  
  
  
“Siblings?” he seems surprised, frowns, and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say you fight like siblings.”  
  
  
  
The wine glass is to her lips and she is forced to swallow slowly, unable to look at him with that statement. The conversation was suddenly growing uncomfortable for Rachel. He wanted her to ask him what he meant, but she wouldn’t.   
  
  
  
“I can see why you’re so eager to go to school in America. It’s a bit childish, don’t you think?” Hiro says after a moment, unprompted, and Rachel looks away. He smiles a little, like he’s musing about a distant memory, but Rachel slides her gaze past his shoulders and back towards Young Do who is still watching them carefully. She swallows and turns away, knowing full well, what exactly he thought was so childish. “Aren’t you tired?”  
  
  
  
Rachel grits her teeth and gives him a flat look. Hiro was far too comfortable in speaking with her. “I didn’t think I’d have to establish additional boundaries,” she drawls, daring him to continue assuming anything about her life or her feelings. So like a man, how disappointing.  
  
  
  
He seems to realize his mistake, and gives a shallow bow in apology. “No, of course not. Let’s go then, shall we?”  
  
  
  
She nods sharply and pulls him along, feeling any lingering and misplaced anticipation drain from her. She would introduce him to whomever he needed to be introduced to, but then she would be gone. She didn’t care what her mother said. She was tired, and the prospect of spending another hour or so here with Young Do watching her every move, and Hiro Matsuda making inappropriate remarks about her personal life, well. She would die first.  
  
  
  
“ _Rachel_.”  
  
  
  
No. It wasn’t possible.  
  
  
  
“Bo Na,” Rachel sighs and wonders just how much trouble she’d be in if she just left the party right now.  
  
  
  
An hour later, Hiro has been introduced to half of the room, little of her effort actually needed. He wasn’t known, and therefore the ton was eager to dissect him. He spoke well, was intelligent and handsome, and with Rachel just beside him, he’d gained their interest. She’d begged off after a while, however, allowing him to socialize without her assistance, and tucked herself back and away.  
  
  
  
Young Do hadn’t approached her again, though she’d be aware of his every movement in the room after he’d accidentally bumped into her on his way to greet someone, fingers ghosting the line of her wrist in the process. He wasn’t angry with her any longer, that she could see, but he wasn’t exactly tripping over himself to explain his questionable behaviour. So she refused to care. Tom Ford draping those wide shoulders or not, Rachel wasn’t going to play into his hands. Not again.  
  
  
  
Bo Na had come and gone, she just as bored with all of this as Rachel. Because of her boredom, and the lack of "better" conversation, she had been more receptive to Rachel’s company. Chan Young hadn’t been allowed to accompany her, and so Rachel was forced to be the receiving end of Bo Na’s long, dramatic diatribes. At the very least Rachel was able to ascertain that neither Wan nor Tan would be attending today (“Then why couldn’t Chan Young?” Bo Na had whined, pretty pink mouth raised in a pout. “His Father is the Vice-President. Is Young Do prejudice? Ya, Rachel. Ask your boyfriend why he’s so jealous of my Chan Young!”) Good. One less thing she had to endure for the evening.  
  
  
  
She wasn't sure where Bo Na was now, but she welcomed the solitude. And the wine.  It gave her the space and time she needed to think, away from the influence of Young Do, and away from the white noise of Bo Na. In particular, it gave her time to think about what Hiro had said.   
  
  
  
The longer she thought about it, rolled Hiro’s words around her head in a compulsive need to deny whatever implication he’d held in them, she couldn’t help but feel he was correct. She was tired. Tired of these people, of the expectations placed upon her, and the games she was forced to play to keep she and her Mother firmly in place. It had begun to matter less and less to her, and she couldn’t be bothered to actually put in the effort she normally did. She worried, wine glass in hand as she looked over the din, if her growing indifference was becoming something far worse.  
  
  
  
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to play the game. No. Rachel’s ambition and sights were on greatness and she would accept and succeed at nothing less. It was this though, the social two-stepping, the tiresome dance around egos and explosive emotions that had her alone in this corner, beautiful but unapproachable.  She was a master of it, to be sure, but she recognized that perhaps she needed a break from it.   
  
  
  
She catches Young Do’s curious gaze over her wine glass, and exhales deeply. And not far from the center of it all, was always Young Do.  
  
  
  
“A marriage? Are you sure,” a disbelieving voice sounds somewhere to her right, and Rachel presses the wine to her lips and tears her gaze away from Young Do’s. She was so sick of talk of weddings and mergers.  
  
  
  
“Of course. Why else do you think she’s here instead of her mother?” At that strange coincidence, Rachel’s ears perk, fingers tightening around the wine glass.  
  
  
  
“Esther was so firm in ending her engagement, why would--”  
  
  
  
“Not the mother,” the familiar voice continues, and Rachel turns to find the lawyer from earlier that week holding court among several other male board members. “The daughter. And I can tell you, I saw them together in his office. He played it off like it was a business meeting, but I know. The boy isn’t half as clever as he thinks he is.” The lawyer smiles and takes a drink of his scotch, amused. “I’m sure it’s just another play to keep the company in their name.”  
  
  
  
“Well,” one of the board members muses, drink sloshing in his hand. “It is a more appropriate match. I will give them that.”  
  
  
  
“Certainly. You saw them when she came in with that other man. They aren’t even trying to hide it.”  
  
  
  
Rachel stares, feeling her head lighten and her stomach hollow simultaneously the longer she listens. She sets the wine glass on the table behind her and presses a shaky hand to her sternum.  
  
  
  
Marriage. To Young Do.  
  
  
  
She lifts her head and knows where to find him, still towering over the throng of middle-aged business associates eager for his conversation. He has his charming smile on, softer than usual and utterly foreign on his face.  
  
  
  
So that was why he wanted her here, to suggest a marriage without actually following through with it. Clever, really. She was the walking implication of a business deal that could reinforce the faith placed in Zeus’ future. A business deal that did not exist, but could be believed by her presence at his side. She was another toy, a tool, and she hadn’t suspected a thing.  No wonder he’d been so adamant and angry when she’d brought Hiro her with her.  
  
  
  
 _What a fool,_ she thinks, staring at him with a growing mix of fury and stunned disbelief. She should have known, her Mother was a voting member of the board, what power or influence did Rachel have in the slightest? She was just the daughter. Young Do’s request didn’t make any real sense.  
  
  
  
There is a sharp burning sensation behind her eyes and that’s when Rachel knows. She had thought he’d needed her, despite the many things she’d convinced herself of, she had thought that this was more than just one favour of quasi-friendship. He’d been so insistent, hadn’t he? And privately, she’d enjoyed that. She had denied it, but now she knows. She had expected something, like she always did, and she was made a fool of in the process.  
  
  
  
Idiot.

 

Young Do lifts his head up as if sensing her stare, still smiling. His smile falters when he takes note of her expression. She had to leave. Now.  
  
  
  
She winds herself around the other guests with agile grace, quick sure steps that have her in the hallway in a matter of seconds. He still catches her just as she makes it to the cloak room: “Rachel.”  
  
  
  
She doesn’t stop, can’t stop because the burning sensation behind her eyes are now angry tears. “Rachel,” he calls again and reaches for her wrist. “Bored so quickly? You didn’t even fulfill your pr--”  
  
  
  
“Don’t touch me,” she snaps and wrenches her arm from his grasp, turning on him with wide, angry eyes. “ _You bastard_ ,” she hisses, still in disbelief.  
  
  
  
Young Do is frozen, staring at her in stunned silence, his hand still outstretched from where he’d reached for her. A flustered Young Do is a rare sight.  
  
  
  
"Rachel--”  
  
  
  
“You think you’re so smart,” she rasps, balls her fists and glares at him to prevent the hysteria from climbing. “Such a clever boy Young Do. Bravo.”  
  
  
  
He narrows his eyes at her, gaze flicking from the tears she can't quite hide to the tremble at her mouth where she tries to prevent it from twisting in her anguish. She watches him swallow, body tightening into sharp lines and angles as he braces himself. “What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
  
  
“Marriage,” she almost spits, breathe too shallow in her lungs, the sound wet and strangled from unshed tears. “Marriage,” she repeats again, clearing her throat. “I can see the appeal Young Do, really,” she smirks without any amusement, “it’s such a subtle move. Have them think your ring is on my hand, and my body in your bed. You can’t broker a better deal than that.”  
  
  
  
He catches on then, and Rachel is glad to see his unconvincing act of confusion so quickly discarded. He was never a very good liar. _Well he was good enough to fool you.  
  
_  
  
“Don’t be stupid,” he responds, voice firm but brow furrowed. “I _never_ suggested that. I would never--” when she shakes her head, refusing to believe his words, he stops and presses his lips into a thin line. “I asked you to come here as a future business associate, not marriage prospect. Rachel,” he takes a step closer, frustration in every syllable. “How the fuck could you think that?”  
  
  
  
“You _used_ me,” the vulnerability in her voice taking them both off guard. It had come out more hushed than she’d wanted, an involuntary admission. Young Do falters, the furrow in his brow deepening as he looks on helplessly.  
  
  
  
“It was a good plan,” she clears her throat, blinking back some of the moisture. “Almost on my level Young Do. Under different circumstances I’d almost be impressed.” She laughs then, sound more painful to him than it was to her. “No wonder you were so rude to Hiro Matsuda. His very presence made your fiancé into a whore and you into a joke.”  
  
  
  
“Stop,” Young Do orders gruffly, eyes flashing. “You have no idea what you’re talking about and now you’re just embarrassing yourself.”  
  
  
  
“I’m not the embarrassment Young Do,” she retorts snidely. “Your Father must be worried about his son’s incompetence. You even had to go as far as creating a fake fiancé out of the scraps of your Father’s failed business deal to keep up appearances. _Pathetic_.”  
  
  
  
Young Do is violent by nature. When he looks at her, eyes dark with so much hatred they are nearly black, she feels the full force of that violence.  
  
  
  
“It must be true,” he sneers, voice cruel and low. He leans down so that he is completely in her face when he grins sardonically. “Kim Tan’s discarded goods would know a thing or two about being pathetic.”  
  
  
  
She slaps him then, the sound echoing in the small cloak room they’d found themselves in. She hated him. God, she hated him.  
  
  
  
“Fuck you, Young Do.”  
  
  
  
“Fuck you, Rachel,” he returns easily, just as venomous.  
  
  
  
They stare at each other for a long, tense moment. She wants to hurt him. She wants to hurt him in the same way she’d wanted to lay waste to Tan’s little world when he’d betrayed her like he did. But worse. As she stares into Young Do’s furious eyes, she wants to do far worse than she’d ever done to Tan because Young Do has done far worse to her. Tan had broken her pride, but Young Do had broken her trust. And, she thinks, throat burning with the realization, her heart.  
  
  
  
Violence she thinks, eyes fixated on his lips. There were many forms of violence.   
  
  
  
Without a thought, Rachel tugs him down by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him; _hard_. 


	3. Smoke and Garbage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she licks her lips she can taste him. Where her fingers clutch the hem of her dress, she can feel the hard lines of him. Everything is Young Do. She is tired of everything being about a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an awful human being. I apologize for how late this update came, for my lack of communication, and for how inadequate this chapter is. I've lost motivation, to be honest, but I promise that this will be finished in another few chapters. This chapter was going to be longer, but I thought it was better to post what I had than wait another few months when I finally got it to where I wanted it. Please forgive me! This has not been beta-red so there will be errors. Sorry for that too. 
> 
> As always, you can find me at tyndaridaes on tumblr. Thank you for reading.

This is not the first time Rachel has kissed Young Do.

 

> _12 is an awkward age, even for Rachel. Her hair is long and thick, tucked back and away from her face by a pretty blue headband and a long ponytail. As much as she’d disliked the films, Rachel had discovered Audrey Hepburn that year, interest manifesting in bows, sleek lines, and innocent femininity. While Bo Na and her other friends kept their hair with blunt layers and pinned fringe, Rachel dabbed Chanel at her wrists and enjoyed the way her hair bounced when she glided into a room._
> 
> _So had many of the boys (not that Rachel had allowed anything to come of that interest)._
> 
> _She is 12 and the closest thing to a wallflower at Bo Na’s birthday party. She begs off the drinks Myung Soo had brought with him (not because she was some prude; Rachel had long acquired a taste for wine, but would never acquire a taste for anything that allowed her control to slip), the dancing (because, while she’d never admit to it, she wasn’t honestly sure her hips could do that), and the boys (because Won hadn’t come and she certainly wasn’t going to settle for Myung Soo)._
> 
> _Rachel may have looked the sweet picture of 1950s innocence, but she hadn’t mastered the attitude.  She had tried, briefly, to smile prettily while one of Bo Na’s other friends chatted about something stupid, but the girl had made some crack about how ‘dated’ Rachel’s look was and the smile had slid right off of Rachel’s face. She had the girl flustered and angry in about 5 seconds anyway, but the burn of embarrassment had stayed with Rachel._
> 
> _It wasn’t that she was dressing this way to gain some attention, male or otherwise. But, Rachel had never been able to hold someone’s attention like Bo Na did, or get invited to the mall for reasons other than her credit card and social clout. Girls didn’t like Rachel and boys were too afraid of her. She just had to practice. She could be doe eyed and sweet. She could. She could be Hepburn._
> 
> _An hour into the night Rachel ends up alone, nearly swallowed by the couch cushion, and miserable._
> 
> _“Bo Na wants me to tell you that you’ve ruined her party.”_
> 
> _Rachel scowls, tucking her legs closer together and deliberately ignores Young Do’s amused stare when he drops himself into the seat next to her. He’s all long, gangly limbs when he leans forward and braces his forearms on his knees, trying to get her attention._
> 
> _“I very much doubt that,” she replies dryly because while Bo Na had squawked at Rachel for being lame and bitchy, Bo Na didn’t look too distraught dancing wildly with the rest of their classmates._
> 
> _She sniffs and primly presses her hands against the hem of her skirt. “Go away Choi Young Do.”_
> 
> _Young Do scoffs and turns his head so that she can see his sneer on that long pointy face. She hated his eyebrows._
> 
> _“Shouldn’t you be trying to look less like a social leper?”_
> 
> _“Why do you think I want you to leave? Ew,” Rachel wrinkles her nose and watches as Young Do pulls a cigarette from his pocket, sticking it into his mouth like he’s some sort of criminal. “Are you serious? That’s disgusting.”_
> 
> _Young Do shrugs and presses his thumb into some cheap plastic lighter. The flame doesn’t ignite. He tries again. Rachel snorts._
> 
> _Oh yes, he was very mature._
> 
> _“Shut up,” he scowls at her laughter and a flame finally appears with an aggressive swipe of his thumb. “Like you could do better. Princess.”_
> 
> _Did he think that was some sort of insult? Rachel sits up straight where she’s seated and adjusts the elastic holding her flowing hair in place. Young Do inhales a long drag of the cigarette and watches the movement with a pointed look._
> 
> _He doesn’t even cough, she thinks, curious. She wonders how long he’d been smoking when they were barely off of their swing sets._
> 
> _“And smell like smoke and garbage?” She sniffs and turns away from him, eyes catching the comically awkward way Tan was attempting to dance against Bo Na’s enthusiastic pelvic thrusts. “No thanks.”_
> 
> _“Won smokes too, you know.”_
> 
> _Rachel stares at him, outraged. “He does not.”_
> 
> _Young Do takes another long drag and sits back against the couch, eyes on the smoke curling its way towards the ceiling. “He probably does.” Rachel punches him in the shoulder. “Ow,” he grunts in pain, and instinctively moves to cradle his arm, pouting. “This is why no one will sit with—ya!”_
> 
> _Rachel grabs the cigarette from his lips and tosses it onto the ground, crushing it under her Mary Janes before he can even react._
> 
> _He gapes at her, furious. Rachel just smiles, smug._
> 
> _“Okay everyone,” Bo Na suddenly shouts, interrupting their little stare off. “We’re going to play a little game okay? It’s called suck and blow,” there are a few confused mutterings from around the room, but Bo Na remains confident at the center of it all. Rachel watches as Bo Na places a card to her mouth, inhaling deeply to keep the card there. She turns to Tan (of course) and places the card to his lips. Always slow on the uptake, Tan blanches for a minute and the card falls, much to the delight of Bo Na who presses her lips against his. Scandalized titters erupt around them and Rachel’s stomach sinks. Young Do and the cigarette are forgotten._
> 
> _“Tan!” Bo Na blushes, doing a terrible job of appearing bashful. “You need to suck when I…”she cuts off and clears her throat, blushing again._
> 
> _“Blow?” Young Do offers helpfully, mockingly. A few guffaws from the immature male population (including Tan) echo Young Do’s pleased smile and Rachel grimaces. Prepubescent boys. Disgusting._
> 
> _Bo Na serves Young Do with a look that could kill. “Let’s just play the game,” she utters through clenched teeth.  “Okay?”_
> 
> _Bo Na tries again with Tan, who turns quickly to the girl beside him, who turns to the girl next to her. It’s quick and people are on the edge of their seat, but Rachel only feels sweat drip down her spine._
> 
> _“Nervous?”_
> 
> _Rachel turns to see Young Do watching her with a knowing look, an expression that suggests trouble. The cigarette she’d crushed is still smoking on the floor in front of them. Rachel swallows and hides her fidgeting fingers deep in her skirt. “Of course not. This game is stupid, I’m going to get a drink.”_
> 
> _“Rachel!” Bo Na protests loudly when she gets up from the couch, and it’s only then that Rachel realizes she’s next in the circle. A boy Rachel doesn’t recognize looks pinched and alarmed with the effort to keep the card against his lips._
> 
> _Rachel hesitates for a second too long and the card falls to the floor._
> 
> _Groans fill the room and Rachel has to hold back the flush of mortification to have so many accusatory eyes on her. “I’m not playing,” she announces, defensive, and balls her fist._
> 
> _“You ruin everything,” Bo Na sighs, sounding more disgruntled than upset. She crosses her arms and shares a look with one of the other guests._
> 
> _“It’s not like anyone would want to kiss her anyways,” some girl says quietly to Rachel’s left and Rachel’s ears burn. She thinks about her headband, her pretty pink makeup, and her hair brushed sweetly into a ponytail._
> 
> _She feels transparent and foolish. Why bother pretending?_
> 
> _She catches Tan’s eye for a moment, gaze filled with pity and discomfort. The sight alone makes her stomach harden and she turns away quickly._
> 
> _“My turn?” a voice cuts through the din of disappointed titters and Young Do is suddenly standing next to her, card already in his hand. He keeps his gaze on her, smug, bored, and effortless for the eyes of the room, but Rachel sees a challenge there. She bristles with the knowledge that he thinks he’s helping her. As if Young Do could ever be kind._
> 
> _She didn’t want help. She didn’t need help, these children weren’t worth her time or fleeting self-doubt._
> 
> _Eyes narrowing, Rachel licks her lips and allows him to place the card on his mouth, edging close enough that she can smell the tobacco from his cigarette.  He is confident in his movements, the bluster of a boy pretending to be a man. But Rachel has always known the male ego to be a precarious thing; it was her Mother’s first lesson._
> 
> _When he is close enough to her, Rachel reaches up to rip the card from his lips and leans in to press her mouth against his instead. Shocked gasps fill the room and Young Do stiffens against her in surprise. For a brief moment she tastes cherry cola beneath the tobacco and smoke._
> 
> _She retreats almost as quickly as she attacks, hiding the adrenaline tremor with a sharp smile unbefitting the doll image she had taken hours to perfect before coming here. “This game is stupid,” she announces loftily, voice only hollow to her own ears. “If you want to kiss someone, just do it. You aren’t children.” She tosses the card to the ground and ignores the scandalized expression frozen on Bo Na’s pretty face. Tan is staring at them, mouth open and brow furrowed._
> 
> _“I told you,” she turns back to Young Do and her bravado slips for only a moment. He looks like she could have punched him and he wouldn’t have been more surprised. “Smoke and garbage.”_

 

This is not the first time Rachel has kissed Young Do, but it might as well be.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

She surges forward thoughtlessly, fingers twisted in his collar when she drags him close. Young Do stiffens against her, fingers like a vice where they suddenly grip her hips. He hisses when her teeth cut into his lip, but Rachel just inhales the sound and swallows down whatever was left of her tears.

 

She expects him to push her away, yell at her, make her feel even more foolish than she did at that moment. But Young Do has never gone out of his way to satisfy her expectations of him.  

 

He utters something low and angry against her lips and his hands come up, knocking her grip off of his collar. He cups her cheeks in his palms and drags her close enough that she trips over her heels and against his chest. He opens her mouth up under his, movements hard and powerful as he brings her bottom lip into his mouth and sucks until her breath breaks into a gasp.

 

She leans into him, let’s her leg slip shamelessly between his as they stumble backwards into the coat rack from the force of his kiss. He grunts against her but doesn’t pause, only slides his hands down her neck, thumb ghosting the frantic beat of her pulse point before his fingers settle at her waist. While she winds her hand up into his hair and claws, he sinks his teeth into the corner of her mouth and forces a whine from her.

 

A coat hanger digs into the back of her neck and she knows that the fallen coat wrapped around her ankles will be a hindrance, but Rachel doesn’t care. Not when Young Do’s hands are inches from her breasts and she has yet to make him kneel.

 

“I hate you,” she pants, digging her fingers into his hair and pulls until he is forced to back away with a wince. Hair dishevelled and eyes snapping, he glares at her, angry accusation ready on his lips. She waits for it, the sound of their laboured breathing filling the small room. “Well?” she demands irritably, but he simply stands there, the malice in his stare dimming into something else entirely.

 

He blinks at her, lashes dark and close enough to touch. She can see nothing beyond the expanse of his wide shoulders and heavy gaze, pinning her back against the fur and suede coats.

 

What was he doing?  

 

“Shut up Rachel,” he responds gruffly, finally, but the words come out tentative and annoyed. He leans in to kiss her again and she is waiting, lips parted. When she only feels his breath, strained and warm against her, her eyes fly open.

 

“What are you doing?” her voice catches in her throat, uneasy. He seems apprehensive, resigned even as he stares deeply into her eyes. He licks his lips. “Young Do—”

 

He captures her mouth again with more determined, purposeful movements that make her head dizzy and breath short.

 

No, she thinks as his lips get softer against hers, almost reverent. This was supposed to be rough, hard, punishing. There was nothing violent about the new way Young Do was kissing her; he was moving far too slowly, far too intently for that. Brow furrowed, Rachel digs her nails sharply into his shoulder blade and bites down on his lip, anxious to continue their frantic pace.

 

"Ya," Young Do protests, drawing back from her immediately. There is blood where her teeth caught his skin and he glares, annoyed. "Aish," he winces when he swipes his bottom lip with his thumb. "What the hell?"

 

Rachel blinks at him, angry and confused all over again. “What?” she mocks, and hits him to hide the trembling. “Do it properly, you asshole.” There is something low and deep and clenching, utterly foreign.

 

Young Do catches one of her wrists with his fingers, bringing her eyes and attention back to him. His stare is intense, something angry and desperate as he bears down on her, clutches her wrist all the tighter. “Rachel,” he says almost like an appeal and Rachel can hear her heart in her ears.

 

"What?" she exhales.

 

With her wrist still in his hand, Young Do leans forward again and places a gentle kiss to her lips, catching her noise of surprise against his mouth. The pressure is soft when he takes her bottom lip, soothing the bruises of his own violence with careful kisses. This is not a Young Do she knows, this is not— she sags against him when he drops his hold on her wrist so that he can cup her face carefully in his palms.

 

She feels too delicate, too fragile when he holds her like this, and it isn’t enough. “Do it properly,” she sighs against him, insistent as she winds her arms around his neck and uses it as leverage to press him more firmly against her. In response, his grip becomes stronger, mouth more demanding as he parts her lips with his tongue and swallows her tiny gasp when he gives her exactly what she wants.

 

Christ, he had a talented mouth.

 

She chokes a little on a moan when he winds his fingers down and presses hard on her lower back, tilting her pelvis against his, just so. She nips at his lip for that one and thinks, not for the first time, that he was wearing far too many clothes.

 

In seconds, her hand is splayed under his suit jacket, fingers clawing at the material to somehow get at his skin. He is oblivious to her struggles, far too focused on coaxing out the breathy little sounds she makes when his tongue slides against hers.

 

She tugs again at his shirt but is unable to pull it out of his dress pants. She is sweating, they both are, there is little air in the small enclosed room and little air in her lungs since Young Do fused his mouth over hers. Her hair is beginning to stick to the sweat of her nape, his long fingers slick as he works them upwards to cradle her head and Rachel can barely think past the feeling of his lips on her skin.

 

She abandons his shirt when he winds his arm around her lower back again and brings her flush against his front. “Rachel,” he sighs against the corner of her mouth, lips suddenly languid and lazy where they drag against her jawline, open mouthed kisses pressed to the shadows of her skin. She lets out a high breathy sound and feels her legs shake against his.

 

Yes, she thinks, closing her eyes as his hand comes up to grasp her chin, tilting her head back so that he can press his mouth against the base of her jaw and ear. This is what she wants, the feeling of power and control that comes with your name on a boy’s lips, broken and needy. She wants him to moan, she wants her name spilling off of his lips and into her throat until all that’s left of him is her. Urgently, Rachel slides her hands down from his back and over the swell of his ass in those criminally fitted black slacks. She hesitates, but only for a moment.  
  


She squeezes and he gives a sharp jerk of surprise. He groans right into her ear, long, deep, and slow and Rachel has to sink her teeth into her lip to prevent herself from gasping at the ache that gives her when he bucks up against her, practically thrusting.  He is hard against her thigh.

 

She squeezes again, insistent and horny and why won’t he just pick her up and—Young Do shifts with her, sending them both stumbling back into the wall. She loses her balance with the coat tangled around her feet, her left ankle rolling underneath her. Young Do has to catch her against his chest to keep her upright.

 

They’re panting, Rachel’s hands now fisting his shirt and his mouth against her ear. He turns, letting his lips trail against her cheek bone, drawing back so that he can look her in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, all the more sinister under the violent slash of his dark brows and hooded lids as he stares her down. It frightens her how much she looks at his desire and likes it. His lips are swollen and smudged with plum, her mark on that sly, cruel mouth.

 

“Did you make me into a fiance?” she presses her thumb against his bottom lip, smearing the plum colour further across the swollen skin. She could do this, want this, want him. She already does. The mere sight of him dishevelled and large around her has her heart rocketing against her chest. If Rachel is honest with herself, these feelings have been half a year in the making.  
  
  
  
“I'm clever, ” he says hoarsely against her thumb and she’s transfixed. “But I’m not that cruel,” he punctuates with a kiss to the pad of her thumb.

 

Rachel swallows, reality and memory sinking in hard and fast. He’s close, so close to her, eyes hard and serious. She inhales deeply and lets her hand slowly drop from his face.

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

His lips twist in displeasure and he catches her wrist in his hand. “Not to you.”

 

She scoffs and wrenches her wrist from his grasp. “What a short memory you have.”

 

He takes a step forward and Rachel chokes on a gasp when his thigh presses into her hip. He leans in close enough that his nose brushes against hers. “Just a distorted one. Rachel.”

 

She inhales sharply and thinks about closing the distance between them again.  
  
  


_Childish,_ Hiro had said, _aren’t you tired of it?_  
  
  
  
Rachel drops her hands from his chest.

 

Young Do seems to pick up on her sudden change of demeanor, hazy eyes turning sharp and alert in an instant. “Rachel,” he says like a warning, reaching for her as she draws back and away from him.  She hears the undercurrent of fear in her name and it makes her stomach tight. She doesn’t know what Young Do thinks about this, what he thought about her, but it didn’t matter.  
  
  
  
Clearly she had completely lost her faculties. She had--they had-

 

“Don’t,” she orders, unable to look at him, trembling fingers pressed to the ravaged strands of her hair. She was a disheveled mess, physical evidence in the smear of lipstick across her jaw, and the bruises on her hips. She can feel them. “Don’t touch me.”

 

“Rachel,” he says again, voice a little desperate, insistent. She slaps his hand away from her and pushes past him on unsteady legs. “We need to talk about this.”  
  
  
  
“I don’t need to do anything. And,” she inhales, catches the wild look in his eye and wishes she hadn’t. “There is no we.”  
  
  
  
There’s a stretch of silence before Young Do looks down at her, jaw clenched and tone hard. “ _Yes_ , there is.”  
  
  
  
Rachel stares at him, not expecting the vehemence (the honesty). She presses her nails so deeply into her thigh she feels the cuts burn.  
  
  
  
_Childish. This was childish._

 

“I’m going,” she says firmly, spine straight, and believes the words enough to turn away from him. She hesitates when she hears him take a step towards her though and feels weak for it. “Don’t follow me Young Do, I think you respect me enough to do that.”  
  
  
  
She walks away from him, feeling like she could go at a dead run, but her legs and mind are far too shaky to even contemplate it.  
  
  
  
She needs to find Hiro. She needs to make her goodbyes. She needs to do as she’s always done, but instead Rachel finds herself at the elevator, staring at her distorted reflection in the silver plating. You couldn’t even tell, really. Aside from a few hairs out of place and lips that were pink again, no one would ever know that Rachel had nearly lost everything in a small cloak room with a fur coat around her ankles and Choi Young Do’s hands in her hair. When she licks her lips she can taste him; where her fingers are clutching the hem of her dress, she can feel the hard lines of him. Everything is Young Do. She is tired of everything being about a boy.  
  
  
  
“Rachel.”  
  
  
  
Rachel flinches with the expectation that she will find Young Do, and can’t, for all her self-control, think of what she’d do. Instead, she turns to find Bo Na standing only a foot behind her, a worried expression on her face. “I saw you leave with--” Bo Na clears her throat and gives a small, aggrieved sigh before carefully sidling closer. “Are you alright?”  
  
  
  
Yes, she thinks to say out of habit, or perhaps sneer at Bo Na’s unsolicited concern and dismiss her childhood “friend” with as frosty a stare as she normally gave.  
  
  
  
“No,” Rachel responds instead, surprising them both. She bites into her cheek and refuses to be mortified by her slip up.  
  
  
  
Bo Na watches Rachel for a few more seconds, inhaling deeply like she’s digesting it all. “Okay,” she declares, and Rachel nearly jumps when the other girl takes the final step forward and hesitantly slides her hand into Rachel’s. “I’ll take you home.”  
  
  
  
When the elevator opens, Bo Na tugs Rachel gently inside. Rachel stands there for a moment, fingers still clasped tightly between Bo Na’s and feels the uncharacteristic panic swell swiftly and surely. Despite her hold on Rachel, Bo Na clears her throat and shifts, the only indication that she feels slightly uncomfortable about the situation.  
  
  
  
“Bo Na,” she says and thinks about wrenching her hand from the other girl’s grasp. Thinks about the many reasons she’d distanced herself from anyone and everyone. Thinks about how uncomfortable and detestable this unfamiliar show of support feels.  
  
  
  
She stops and swallows when Bo Na turns to her sharply. I have feelings for Young Do, is what almost spills out of her mouth.  
  
  
  
The other girl purses her lip and squeezes Rachel’s hand.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Bo Na calls for her car and tries to herd Rachel into it, but as unsteady as Rachel is feeling right now, she is not in such a state to be treated like a sobbing child. “I’m not glass, Bo Na,” Rachel snaps when Bo Na fidgets uncomfortably beside her.  
  
  
  
Bo Na scoffs. “You know Rachel,” she says, and makes sure to knock her knee into Rachel’s when she slides in next to her. “There’s a reason you have no friends.”  
  
  
  
“Aside from evident intellectual superiority?” Rachel rolls her eyes. “Do tell.”  
  
  
  
Bo Na snorts derisively and then it’s quiet. At some point, Bo Na had let Rachel’s hand go, so Rachel folds both together and presses them tightly against her knee. The lights of Seoul flicker from the window as they pass them and Rachel thinks about letting her forehead press against the cool glass.  
  
  
  
As expected, the silence is too much for Bo Na and the girl breaks it after a very long 30 seconds.  
  
  
  
“Your date was attractive. _Well_ ,” she smiles like it’s a private joke and flicks her long hair over her shoulder. “He’s nowhere near Chan Young’s level, but for you…”  
  
  
  
Rachel tilts her head back against the seat rest, mind nowhere near the other man. “If you’re trying to insult my taste in men, you needn’t bother.” Feeling strangely comforted by their prickly dynamic and Bo Na’s uncharacteristic concern rippling far, far below the surface of her condescension, Rachel is honest. “I think we’re well aware of my shortcomings.”  
  
  
  
Tan.  
  
  
  
Bo Na’s eyebrows rise, but she says nothing to that effect. At least regarding Tan, Rachel and Bo Na can agree.  
  
  
  
“Still,” Rachel continues and can’t help herself, “at least my men fill out a suit.”  
  
  
  
Rachel almost smiles watching Bo Na struggle between defending her boyfriend’s shoulders and trying to keep the odd civility as stable as possible. Rachel can tell that there is a part of Bo Na that is fascinated by Rachel’s perceived vulnerability right now but it is completely at odds with the knee jerk reaction to defend and praise Chan Young at all costs.  
  
  
  
“ _What?_ _Chan Y_ \--” Bo Na stops, face twisted with the effort to keep the outrage in. She breathes very, very deeply before continuing on through gritted teeth. “So, he was a date then.”  
  
  
  
“Hardly. It was business.” As if everything between a woman and man had to be rife with a sexual undercurrent. Rachel swallows at the thought and looks away.  
  
  
  
“Well your business had a cute butt.” Rachel stares at Bo Na in disbelief but the girl gives an unapologetic shrug. “I would know, Chan Young has a great--”  
  
  
  
“Bo Na have I told you how much I enjoy our time together?”  
  
  
  
Bo Na sniffs and scowls at her. “Fine. Do you want me to ask then?”  
  
  
  
Rachel clenches her jaw and turns away again.  
  
  
  
“Did he hurt you?”  
  
  
  
_Who?_ Rachel wants to laugh, but they both know exactly whose name is left unspoken. And of course, where Young Do is involved, someone always expects the very worst of him. In that they were alike.  
  
  
  
“No,” Rachel says after a long moment, knowing the question to be a loaded one, but chooses to address the more superficial reason. She can give Bo Na this, at least.  
  
  
  
Bo Na clears her throat and shifts, uncomfortable again. She keeps her eyes on the side of Rachel’s face though, so intently that Rachel finally loses her patience.  
  
  
  
“That constipated look isn’t--” she’s interrupted by the steady chime of her cell phone and both girls freeze. Young Do.  Heart suddenly hammering against her chest again, Rachel makes no move to answer it, gaze fixated on the innocuous little thing on the seat between them.  
  
  
  
It rings for a few more seconds before Bo Na reaches over, taking the phone in her hand without a word.  
  
  
  
“It’s business,” she says and clears the sudden gentleness from her throat.  She brushes the hair from her neck and gives Rachel a long look from under her lashes. “Should I--”  
  
  
  
Rachel plucks the phone from her, taking a long measured breath to corral her heart into a regular rhythm again. Beside her, Bo Na does a horrendous job of pretending not to eavesdrop.  
  
  
  
“Yoo Rachel?” Hiro says when she answers the phone, tone friendly enough that Rachel relaxes into her seat.  
  
  
  
“Mr. Matsuda,” she clears her throat and wants very badly to swear. “I want to apologize.“

 

“It’s ok,” Hiro assures her. “Choi Young Do explained that you were ill.”

 

Rachel’s fingers tighten around the phone. _Young Do explained what?_

 

“I wish you would have told me. I admit I’m embarrassed, it was my duty as your date to take care of you. “

 

“It wasn’t a date.” Bo Na leans in closer to listen and Rachel pinches her in the thigh. _Hard._

 

“No,” he draws out and Rachel can hear him shift the phone to his other ear, “ but as future business partners and as a gentleman, I should have paid attention. Especially after all you did for me tonight. Thank you.”

 

Rachel almost laughs. Perhaps it was uniquely American to believe one’s own charm. What would Young Do say to that?  
  
  


“Then we’ll forget this.”  
  
  
  
There’s a short pause before Hiro chuckles, loud enough that Bo Na can hear him. She’s still glowering at Rachel for the violent pinch, but she makes sure Rachel sees the smug twist of her mouth when Rachel turns to glare at her.  
  
  
  
“You seem very determined to have very little to do with me, Yoo Rachel.”  
  
  
  
“As we agreed, this was for the success of our future business venture--”  
  
  
  
“Yes,” he interrupts and Rachel narrows her eyes at his tendency to be overly familiar with her. “But I don’t remember friendship being taken off of the table. You are young but clearly very capable and I respect that.”  
  
  
  
Beside her, Bo Na mouths friendship with an infuriating grin and Rachel rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure I understand what my youth has to do with my skillset, but the fact that you didn’t bother to entertain any other conclusion speaks well of your judgement. Perhaps our companies can come to a satisfactory agreement.”  
  
  
  
“Yoo Rachel--”  
  
  
  
“Because we agreed to speak on more casual terms, I’ll entertain the possibility in the future. I respect your experience and anticipate your ideas, but this is as far as our relationship goes for now.” She takes a measured breath and hears him do the same. She was being overly standoffish, she knew this. But she was not in a place to entertain Hiro’s sincerity with more finesse at the moment.  
  
  
  
“Fair enough,” and she can hear the smile. Honestly. “I believe your Mother has plans for you to come to Japan before you begin college. Our company is very interesting in exploring our mutual interests and we’d be pleased to work with you. Think about it, Yoo Rachel.  I offer you my services should you decide to come. It’s the least I can do.”  
  
  
  
“I appreciate your offer and I’ll apologize once again,” she says after a moment. “Until then.”  
  
  
  
“Until then,” he parrots and Rachel thinks about Hiro’s smile and Young Do’s fury. Hiro was a shade and temperament too expressive for Rachel’s liking, but she appreciated his skill. They played the same game with different tactics and a part of Rachel was intrigued to see how such tactics would play out when Rachel spent the inevitable few months overseeing RS International’s interests in Japan. He could prove to be a good ally, and Rachel’s responsibilities in Japan may provide the space she needed.  
  
  
  
Her thoughts stray to Young Do for a moment and she ends the call with a gentleness she doesn’t feel.  
  
  
  
There is silence again and Rachel tucks the phone into her clutch without looking at Bo Na, aware of how that entire situation had played out in front of the other girl.  
  
  
  
“ _Business_ filled out his suit well,” Bo Na reminds her, obnoxiously pleased and misreading the situation entirely.  
  
  
  
“Shut up Bo Na,” Rachel sighs and wants desperately for her bed, for America, for the next flight out of this country and away from everyone she knows.

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
Rachel is asleep when an unfamiliar chime sounds out, muffled and distant but loud enough to wake her. She lies there, eyes blinking blearily up at her ceiling in the darkness and considers tossing the phone into her fireplace.  
  
  
  
It was the fourth time it had rung in the last two hours and that kind of persistence suggested only one person.

 

“Bastard,” she sighs, jaw set and hand already reaching for the phone on her bedside table. She frowns at the black screen of her cellphone. To her left, the chimes of a phone keep sounding.

 

Slowly, Rachel sits up, curtain of hair falling over her shoulders and in front of her face. For a moment she stares at the phone in her hand and realizes that it had been off since she’d climbed out of Bo Na’s car 3 hours ago (artfully missing her Mother by mere seconds).  _The couple phone._

 

Carefully, Rachel pulls back her sheets and slides out of the bed, eyes on her school bag by the desk on the floor.

 

She bites into her lip hard and pulls the offensive thing out of her bag where Young Do’s name flashes across the screen. Rachel hesitates a moment, resolve blistering under the weight of these very real feelings and the knowledge that Young Do very rarely gave up on anything.

 

For her sanity and for her sleep, she reasons to herself and presses the phone against her ear.  
  
  
  
“Are you stupid?”

 

There’s a pause on the other line, like he hadn’t actually expected her to answer. “I must be,” is what he says after a moment, voice deep and tone wry. Rachel swallows hard. “I thought you’d gotten rid of the phone.”

 

He says it like he knew she never would and the aggravation he inspires is so routine, that Rachel almost feels comfortable.

 

“Insignificance usually breeds ambivalence.”

 

He chuckles but it sounds strange, like he was hoping for a reason to and she’d unexpectedly given it to him.

 

“So,” he draws out. “What are you wearing?”  
  


She scoffs without meaning to, shocked by this new direction. Had they not just--she--wasn’t he calling to-- she drops that train of that quickly and tightens her grip on the phone.  Rachel isn’t sure why she thought Young Do would feel the enormity of what happened between them. He probably felt nothing at all.

 

“Nothing?” he hums and she can hear the grin. “I’ll admit, I’m--”

 

“What do you want, Young Do?” she snaps, furious and tense with humiliation. “Was I not clear before?”

 

“You were clear,” comes out hollow and blithe and Rachel feels something desperate claw at her chest.

 

“Then why--”

 

“Because I get the impression that I wasn’t.”

 

Rachel brings her arm closer to her stomach and grits her teeth at his typical condescension.

 

“I’m not going to do this over the phone so you can twist my words around in that pretty little head of yours,” he pauses and she hears him shift the phone to his other ear. “We need to talk about what happened.”

 

 _No._ “Oh?”

 

He makes a displeased noise and Rachel narrows her eyes. “Pretend whatever you’d like Yoo Rachel, but you’re too important to me to leave this. If I did,” she can hear the smile,” you might decide to forget my name.”

 

Rachel inhales sharply through her nose and the pressure against her stomach is nearing painful. _She could do much worse than that_. “Why can’t you ever be serious?”  
  
  
  
He titters, tone challenging. “I leave short and angry to you.”  
  
  
  
Rachel is going to hang up. She is going to destroy him and then herself.  She clutches the phone so hard the plastic protests.  
  
  
  
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow then.”  
  
  
  
“You’re going to school?” she wishes the comment had stayed unspoken at her tongue; she can’t, no matter their current situation, disregard the very real concern she feels over what his Father’s situation has done to him.  He is her only friend and her cards are beginning to show.  
  
  
  
“I am. Education is _very_ important to me.”  
  
  
  
She exhales through her nose. “Don’t forget your tie,” she drawls unkindly (snarls), and hangs up on him.  
  
  
  
When she makes her way back to her bed, the purple phone makes a muffled clang as it hits the garbage bin by her desk.

  



End file.
